Changes
by W0lf-Spirit
Summary: Peter, Micky, Davy and Mike are four people with greatly different backgrounds. How is it that they all came together to not only form a band but also live together in a little beach-house in California? This story is my take on the boys' pasts and how they came to get to know each other.
1. Notes to Start this off

**Some notes**: I already have always had my idea of their pasts. It's come from reading other fics, seeing shows, and things like that. When I see them on the show this is what I imagine their pasts to be. This is also what I imagine when I read a fanfic that doesn't have a specified past for the Monkees.  
Keep in mind, I might be borrowing some _basic_ ideas that I may have seen elsewhere it's not stealing them since, again, it was just the basic idea. Besides that... this is a story I had in my mind long before I decided to try writing it down.  
**FYI:** I don't remember where most of the ideas came from. And with all the tinkering around I did, I wouldn't really say there is any semblance of them anymore.  
**Note**: I still own nothing but the story itself, but that is all my own work. I put a lot of effort into this story so I really would like for you to not steal it or anything I have in it. If you want to use an idea from my story, let me know. I'll probably let you use the idea just fine, but I would still like to know and have credit.

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**Notes on the Story Itself:**  
Firstly, this story, as well as the characters in it are all going to be darker then they are in the show. As such, they will be still In Character but maybe not _quite_ the character you think of when you see a Monkees Romp. And keep in mind that sometimes I may make something a little unclear. If this is the case, please message me or make a review saying as such. I'll either revise the story or just answer you flat out.

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**Notes to you, the reader  
**I tried to hit a few of the main things that came into the Monkees lives, besides just meeting each other. However, if there is something I haven't covered, please feel free to let me know. I would be more than happy to add a chapter or something.

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**Finally: **I wrote this YEARS ago. I have not been to the community I had posted it in for years. I am going over the story and fixing grammar and such. This story was my first true story I made so I feel I should make sure to keep it nice and up to date.

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**Age and timeframe. This is set sometime mid '64. Maybe late '64. That establishes them a group in '65 and close friends in '66+. Their ages are in this story:  
_Mike-21, Peter-20, Micky-19, Davy-18._**  
**I know that doesn't match with their real ages and probably not the guessed ages on the show, but it works and feels right.**

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**Authors Note:  
**There is a direct sequel to this. I had gotten a few chapters into it and stopped. The last chapter is almost a direct lead into the story. If you would like me to post that, please post it as a review, message, or on the poll on my main page.  
KEEP IN MIND!  
The story is going to be angsty. I will reveal a spoiler right now with it, is that it deals with a heavy topic. One which (if I recall correctly) Micky mentioned in his book about his reaction after finding out over his fathers death. So don't expect kittens and rainbows. This story was also only barely written, so once I get to a certain point I will have to properly start updating again.


	2. Mike's Chapter

**~Slowly I walk through the gently falling rain - And I know that I will never pass this way again~**

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**Warnings for this chapter:**Gang references, guns and violence, cussing and an minor OC character death.

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Robert Michael Nesmith (Michael, as he preferred) had a pretty touch childhood, but he wouldn't readily call it a bad one. He never really knew his father but unlike many children in a similar situation, he never felt the need to find him. Mike's dad had taken advantage of his mom and left he. She was pregnant, and unable to support herself but somehow she had found a way to make it through Mike's baby years. Mike grew up realizing this fact and ever since then held a resentment towards his father, but no desire to find him. Once Mike was past his 'diaper days' it became much easier for his mother to support herself, Mike and their dog Frak.

Mike was born and raised in Texas. He lived on the outskirts of a relatively nice town. It wasn't exactly a short drive to the store, but it wasn't a long one either. All this meant was weekly shopping trips which Mike always adored. His mom would let him get lots of tasty treats every time, which he always finished all of before the next shopping trip. There were, however, some draw backs of being so far out of town. First of all, though Michael went to school, he could never play with other kids very often. He made friends, of course, but could only hope to sit by them in class because it was just to far out of town to hang out and play for a while. Summers were the worst... he almost never could see anyone else his age. He could occasionally visit his aunt and cousins, (which was tons of fun) but the rest of the time he had to find a way to keep himself happy. It wasn't very far into his life until he found that thing... music. Unfortunately, this lack of contact with other kids his age led him to be a loner - he just never learned how to interact with others very well. He never had patience for people his own age and adults always just dismissed him as an annoying kid. At first Mike was upset over this but quickly that feeling was washed away. Whenever he picked up a guitar he felt invincible and he honestly couldn't be happier.

His mom couldn't afford lessons ,though. He had to learn on his own and he was very determined to do so. When he was in town he would look at books that had music lessons, but it just caused him to memorize the books even more. In time he even adopted song writing; He started by taking poems from schoolbooks and putting them to music but it wasn't long before he was writing his own lyrics and notes.

It was around the age of sixteen that Mike noticed some nasty looking people moving in. There were still no houses around the Nesmith home but the shady figures were often hanging out somewhere near the property, despite having no need to. Mike had determined that there were two gangs in the area, and they both looked like complete thugs. Odds are they probably picked this area because it was so far away from town. Cops would take ages to show up, they could easily have gang face-offs and not be caught and as an added bonus there was a lone little house - easy prey for the few valuables it may have.

A little after turning sixteen Mike's mom gave him a gun. It wasn't a very large or fancy weapon... just a simple hand pistol. She taught him (with the the held of his aunt) how to use it efficiently. Mike was told to always sleep with it under his bed and have it close to him. That was the year Mike's childhood died.

Occasionally, usually when Mike was at school or in town and his mom was at work, the gangs would break into their quiet home and steal whatever seemed interesting. Of course they never got much, but there would be a mess left over and some food or knick-knacks stole. Normally they did it when no one was home, even Frak was left unhurt. The few times they broke in at night, all Mike had to do was stay quiet and pretend to be asleep and the thugs wouldn't even enter the bedrooms. It was obvious that these dregs of society were more focused on taking things and dealing with each other then they were of the occupants of the house but Mike didn't want to press their luck. He always made sure Frak was in his bedroom at night, just to be on the safe side.

Mike knew that he, his mom, and Frak were lucky. He was doubly sure when he had seen a shootout between the gangs for the first time. It was obvious that, though these thugs weren't necessarily _interested_ in the inhabitants of this house, they were all cold-blooded killers with no regard for life. It was on pure luck alone that Mike and his family weren't hurt yet. He knew, the day he sat at the window watching one gang killing every one of the opposing group, that it was only a matter of time before he or his mom was hurt.

Mike quickly learned to adapt, just as he had quickly learned to adapt to being a loner. He established a routine. He would start with getting up early and making sure everything was safe. He would go to school at the last possible moment and come home as quickly as possible, as to minimize the time he was away. The whole time he was at home he would just make sure the gangs didn't come by and try anything funny. His mom had to work overtime so he counted that as a blessing. He was less worried if it was just himself and Frak. He had taught himself how to use a gun even better and other ways to fight in both self defense and offense. And luckily Frak seemed to understand as well to keep his old ears alert for any trouble.

Two years before he left, when he was about nineteen, his mom knitted him a hat for Christmas/his birthday. This hat was Mike's favorite color, green and it was knitted in such a way that even in the hot Texas weather it would be comfortable. She felt guilty for being unable to afford anything else. But after some convincing he managed to have her understand that she genuinely loved it. He knew the work, time and love she put into it, despite the hard times they were having. He cherished that had for those reasons and no amount of gold in the world could be better.

Barely a month later, however, she got ill. There was no warning and no doctors could offer any help at the time. All Mike could do was sit to the side and hope. He was about twenty by now so he was out of school and could take over more jobs now then he could before. He cooked, cleaned, worked, fixed, took care of his mom and protected the house, himself, his mom, and Frak. Unfortunately during this period of time the gangs seemed to be getting more violent towards each other and Mike. He figured that one of the gangs wanted to take the house, using it as a prim location for their lawlessness. More then once Mike was in the middle of the road in front of his house, staring down some gang members. Usually it went much further than simply a staring contest. He would never forget the first time a bullet pierced the flesh of another human being, but it managed to keep his family safe for another night. Unfortunately his mom's condition was rapidly deteriorating and no amount of work on Mike's part could stop that.

When he was only twenty-one everything changed. After a year of illness his mom was worse then she ever was. She couldn't move on her own and had took it took her to much energy to talk. She knew she was dying and the doctor's still couldn't figure out what illness took hold of her. She knew she would die soon, but she lived to see what any mother could hope to see... her son growing up to be an amazing human being. She was more proud of her son then words would ever be able to explain. Ever since he was a child who could only crawl he had always been happy to help her with anything. He would do chores around the house without even being asked, and more than happily helped her with anything at all, but she never excepted him to take over all the chores and jobs with such grace and not even the smallest grumble of complaint. He cooked and cleaned, fixed and worked, took care of her and protected the property. He even did the more mundane necessities such as paying taxes and sorting out bulls without so much as an unhappy moan. He understood it as his life and was willing to do anything to make her life easier in hopes of her making it out of the illness alive or at the very least make her last bits of life more comfortable. She knew, though, that she wouldn't survive this. The doctors knew this as well and even Mike knew, but it didn't slow him down or sadden him. As with every hardship he'd dealt with thus-far, he just took it in stride and did what he could with what he had.

It was this year that Frak died. Frak was Mike's companion for over ten years and his best friend. As a child they would play tag, wrestle in the mud, and cuddle when a scary storm made the house loose power. As an adult Frak was still constantly at Mike's side, keeping his ears alert for any danger and helping Mike do things around the house (as much as a dog could). Frak always could make Mike happy after a stressful encounter but now... he was gone. One blessing, though, was that Frak died peacefully from old age as he slept one night.

Only a week after burying his friend and companion that Mike had to deal with an even worse loss. This day Mike would never be able to forget. He tried to run from it but it never could leave his past.

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Michael was putting away the last of the dinner dishes. He hadn't eaten much. Something was making his stomach knot up all day. He had a very bad feeling for the past couple of days, but today was worse then ever. Thanks to this, he had no appetite at all, even though he knew he needed the nourishment.

After finishing putting the dishes away and cleaning up the last of his untouched dinner he went to the main room and picked up his book that he was reading. Maybe reading could put his mind at ease... hopefully. He knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate on the book for long - his mind always wandered when left alone, but it was worth a try. Normally he could focus on music, but today neither book or music could pull his mind from what the doctors had told him. His mother was deteriorating at an even more rapid rate then she was before. She was estimated to only live a month or so; not even moving her to a hospital would help. (She wasn't in a hospital now because Mike knew she didn't want to be in one. She was dying and no hospital could fix that. He wanted her to be in comfort at the very least.) Any excitement to her heart would almost defiantly kill her.

His brooding was interrupted as he heard something right outside. His brow knitted a little bit in thought and suspicion, "_Who could that possibly be?" _Mike knew though. He didn't want to think about it or admit it, but he knew exactly what it was. He grabbed his handgun from the drawer of the side table next to him and silently went to where the noise had come from. Carefully he peered out through the blinds - there was defiantly something moving in the darkness but it was impossible to tell if it was human, animal, imagination or even just a leaf. Mike hoped it was a leaf, but logic told him otherwise.

Now a sound now came from near the window. His head snapped over in the direction and he simply glared a moment, as if glaring at the spot would make this problem go away. He didn't want another fight tonight. He especially didn't want another problem after what the doctors had said about his mom. He wished the damn thugs would just leave his family alone.

Next a sound came from the back of the house... inside the house. He felt a shiver involuntarily run down his spine - not fear for his sake, but for his mom. "_Please, not tonight. Not now." _He prayed it was his imagination and nerves but he shrugged those hopes off, knowing better than to believe in false hopes like that. He needed to prepare for the truth, not hope to change reality. Silently he went to the back and peered around a corner, there was a thug from one of the gangs.

Another noise came from the front of the house this time. Confused, Mike went back to the front; he made sure to stay quiet, hidden and quick. The last thing he wanted was to be seen or heard. Once he got to the front he saw another thug... from the other gang. "_Shit..." _Mike knew that a simple break in had quickly turned into something much more dangerous. The gangs had apparently planned on breaking into the house on the same night at the same time and soon as one saw the other, these two thugs would start a fire fight inside the house and Mike and his mom would be caught in the middle. Luckily Mike could hold his own with the gun. He hated using it, but on more then one occasion had to protect himself against a couple of these criminals himself. Unluckily... his mother was there. He could easily protect himself but protecting both of them would be a lot harder.

Mike decided that he needed to get his mom out of there. He didn't care if the bastards burnt the place down, just so long as he got himself and his mom out. Lives were all that was important to him, even thought deep in his gut he knew that his mom may not live the night.

Silently he slipped into his mom's room and shut the door. In three long strides he was at the window opposite side of the room. It was low enough and large enough for him to get his mom and himself out, so long as he could move slowly and carefully.

The fates had anther idea. Before the young Texan could even get to her side, shots fired outside of the room. The loud, ear piercing sound nearly made him jump out of his skin, but it was not out of the ordinary. He needed to hurry though.

Again... the fates were against it. Before Mike could even grab his mom, a large man crashed through the bedroom door. He stood and looked around the room to get his bearings seeing a very angry Nesmith glaring daggers at him. This man had faced off with Mike in the past... Mike had never been so tempted to shoot someone then he was right then. "_So much for making a smooth escape."_

The guy smiled darkly, the brawl temporarily forgotten. He walked over to Mike, taking him roughly by the jaw like a grandmother would, though with a tight and painful grip, and shook him a bit, "Awww, looky here. Mr. Nesmith and his sick little mommy." He laughed a bit, letting Mike go with a shove. Mike stayed on his feet and his glare hardened. He took a few moments to collect himself and figure out what he was going to say. Venom dripped from each syllable in his voice with an accent so strong it was almost hard to understand but his anger it was even stronger. He spoke slowly, exorcising great deals of self control to not shout or join the fight, "Just get out. I don't care what you take. I don't care if you kill each other in my house. Just leave us alone."

The other gang's thug entered, curious as to where his victim went. He saw Mike and his enemy. This particular man never had seem Mike before so really didn't have any interested in Mike or his mom. If they escaped, fine, and if they happened to get caught in the middle, then it was their problem. So he promptly started up the fight again.

Mike couldn't believe it - it was like everything played out in slow motion for a few moments. The bastards started drawing their guns in the room! He didn't have time to afford the luxury of disbelief right now, unfortunately, and knew he had to act fast. Either they both get shot in the room, or his mom would probably die from being moved. He decided he had no choice but to take his chances. If she would die tonight he would be damned it was by a bullet from these dregs. Carefully he wrapped his arms under her frail shoulders and legs and moved her out of the room. Mike knew he made the right choice, however, because the last glance he saw in the room was a gunshot piercing right through the mattress where his mom had rested seconds before. Carefully he set her down on the couch. With the worst timing imaginable it was only now that sirens could be heard outside and the thugs quickly made an exit.

Finally alone with his mom he looked around. For the first time since the gangs broke in he noticed that the house was in shambles. Broken furniture and bullet holes littered the rooms, it seemed there was more of a fight then he had imagined. He stood and glanced in her room. Since it was so small the thugs had torn it apart even more. He knew that, had she stayed in there, they'd have killed her.

But now none of that mattered. That was in the past and Mike had learned that in this life he had to live in the present. Only what was happening right now mattered. He went back to her and checked her breathing and pulse. Both were weak and shallow, worse then they had been before the fight. Tonight may have just been another night to him, but to her it was far too much. Mike wasn't stupid... he realized this probably sooner then any doctor even could. He felt his heart catch... there wasn't even anything he could do. He knew that this was inevitable. She was on such a steep decline that in the end, this night only cut off days. But that didn't make his heart feel any better.

By the time the police finally came in the door, she was gone.

As it turned out, a late-night traveler who heard the shots in the night had called the police officers. They knew about the gang activity and the Nesmiths, so got out to the little house as quickly as they could, but it was apparently not quick enough. Mike was told this at some point in the night but he honestly couldn't even register this information... to clouded was his mind with emotion.

Mike was found kneeling next to his mom, who was lying on the couch. The young Texan looked numb and pale. Every officer knew something was wrong with his mom - the Nesmith's were known to the police officers thanks to the activity around the house. They also knew Mike never looked they way he did right now, he always put on a strong face. One of the officers walked over to her and gently checked for a pulse, nothing. Mike looked up at him, not needing to be told. He knew.

As the police did what they needed to do at the crime scene a couple officers who had known the Nesmiths better then the rest decided to try to prod the information of then night from Mike. At first Mike wouldn't say a word but once he did, some of the officers wish he hadn't. His voice was so numb and emotionless and scarily calm. Most people would be sobbing or screaming in anger but Mike seemed strangely sober, relating every detail that could help in outstanding clarity. Everyone knew that Mike was a strong and levelheaded individual but he was putting forth more strength then they thought a person could have.

After the police finished up examining what they needed to they offered Mike a place to stay for a while rather then the torn up house. He declined, as they had expected.

The sun rose to see a broken building that was once a home. It was empty save for one lone inhabitant sitting on a chair in a wrecked room that was once his mom's room. The sun then got to be the unfortunate witness to something that had never happened before - Something Mike couldn't remember doing even once in his twenty-one years. Michael Nesmith cried. He cried harder then he'd ever known somebody could cry. His sobs wracked his body for at least an hour straight and made his breathing harsh and uneven.

Inevitably that sadness turned to anger. Often Mike's sorrow turned into anger but today found a fresh wave of anger that never coursed through Mike before. He stood, cussing loudly into the silent morning. His fist slammed into the once sturdy wall next to him, adding another hole in its surface. The punch nearly broke his hand but Mike didn't care.. he barely felt the physical pain... his own emotional anguish was by far over powering.

"It's my fucking fault! God dammit!" He kicked a nearby dresser, sending it to the floor in a loud crash. "I should have known not to move her! I fucking killed her!" He kicked the wooden chair which had stood next to the dresser, sending it hurtling into the wall where it shattered into pieces, "I shoulda been able to protect her!"

With that he screamed more profanities and silent yells into the morning, demolishing much of the remaining furniture in the room and bruising himself up quite a bit. He would have certainly beaten himself to death had he not turned his anger to the mirror. It shattered and sprayed him with glass and bits of mirror. It tore up his hand and wrist and the pain finally knocked some of his senses back into him. The anger dissipated as he stared at his heavily bleeding hand for a few seconds before finally sinking to the floor, silent tears streaming down his face. He grabbed an old shirt, which was lying on the ground from the broken dresser and sloppily wrapped up his hand.

By then he found himself exhausted, to exhausted to even get up. He knew that, with his bleeding hand, he shouldn't let himself fall asleep. But by now he didn't care. If he lived or died made no difference right now. All that mattered was the comforting embrace of sleep for his bruised and battered body and mind.

Some time later he finally woke up. He immediately noticed he was extremely sore, his hand stung terribly, and he was very light-headed. He looked down at himself and noticed that the shirt he wrapped his hand in was saturated in blood, as was he. He silently thanked God that the cuts were not as deep as they could have been, and not having been through any vital arteries. But at the same time he silently cursed himself for ever wrapping it up at all. He knew the shirt was the only thing that stopped him from bleeding to death during his nap and though he didn't necessarily want to die... he couldn't say he wasn't terribly upset over the prospect either.

But, that was over and done with. He survived the ordeal so that must mean he needed to continue to survive. He had to start life from here. He carefully stood up, cradling his hand, and made his way for the bathroom. Thanks to the loss of blood Mike felt terribly unbalanced. He would never admit it but trying to manuver through the mess was harder then he thought it should be but he made it without tripping or loosing his balance. Once he was in the only room of the house that was not destroyed, he carefully peeled the shirt from his hand, tossing it in the bathtub. His hand was coated in both wet and dry blood. The back of his mind was surprised at how uninterested he was of his own injury. He turned on the warm water and let the soft flow wash away the blood and gently scrub away the dried blood, being sure to pick away all of the glass he could find. Once all the blood was off he dried and glass removed from the injured fist he found that it seemed to have stopped most of it's bleeding. He quickly cleaned himself the rest of the way, tossing his bloodied and torn clothes into the tub as well. With that he took out the first aid kit and properly wrapped his hand with gauze, leaving his fingers unwrapped. They had only some scratches and cuts on them so nothing that had to be covered.

With his mind still numb he went to his room and put on fresh clothes, then started packing.

He packed slow, taking his time in deciding what to pack and what to leave. By sun set he had finished packing anything he thought he would need or anything he found valuable to him. To be honest he didn't have much, so the couple of small suitcases were easy to carry and fit in his old, small car. He was used to living with only necessities so he wouldn't have a problem. His guitar was the last thing he put in the trunk of his car.

By now the sun set under the horizon as the broken young man made a final round through the house, making sure there was nothing he wanted to keep and being sure it was all ready for his final goodbye.

Satisfied, he stood in the doorway and turned to take one last, long look to his childhood home. He remembered the good days when he was little. He could see himself running from room to room with a stick, pretending it was a horse as he played cowboys with his cousins. He could see himself heading into the kitchen with a bowl to help his mom cook, or helping her clean house. He took a deep, careful breath as he grabbed the green wool hat from the table next to the door. He stared at it a moment. She made this the last year she was healthy. The last good year. Sure there were the gangs, but he and his mom made it all right. It was still a good year, the last good year he had here. This hat had always meant a lot to him; he knew how much love she put into it. But it was now more then ever he cherished it. He placed it firmly onto his head.

Finally he grabbed the matches which were also on the table. Mike turned and lit a match, dropping it behind him as he started walking forward, not looking back. He knew it lit due to the heat erupting behind him. With that he left and let the fire spread its way through the house. It would only take moments for the entire house to be ablaze. He had drenched every room with gasoline.

Careful not to look back he got in his car and drove away. He wouldn't remember that house from the last year... he wouldn't remember it as a ball of flame that it was consumed in now... that flame that burnt the bad memories along with scarred walls. He would always remember his home from his youth. Now, though he didn't know where he was going and didn't care. The road could only move forward.

Mike drove. He had made sure to have a full tank of gas. He didn't want to have to stop to near here. He was now jobless and homeless but had no idea what to do. He had a little bit of money, but not to terribly much. So he decided to let the car take him where it may. He paid no attention to road signs or landmarks. He simply turned when he felt it was a good time to turn and followed the roads, going in and out of busy cities and abandoned towns. His gut led him wherever it pay.

Mike refilled gas once when he was near empty, but it was a small gas station far away from any civilization. By the time that tank ran out he had hit California. He had driven almost nonstop so was only mildly surprised to see how far he had gotten in such a short amount of time. After some debating with himself he resolved to rent a hotel room and get some rest. He hadn't slept since he passed out after he punched the mirror so knew he was risking both his life and others by still driving.

He found a hotel quickly and it seemed cheap enough for him to afford, so he rented the room and dropped off his few positions.

After a quick shower, cleaning and changing of bandages, as well as a few other touch ups, he returned to his car. He decided it would be best to refill the tank once more and get something to eat before he headed to bed since he wasn't sure how long he'd be asleep. He got in and turned the ignition... Nothing. It just revved the starter a few times, sounding sick. He cussed quietly "God damn it..." He sighed in frustration and got out, popping the hood. He didn't really fancy the idea of looking under the hood, he was still very sore and his hand throbbed horribly but he had no choice. After a few moments he could tell one thing for certain. The car was dead. He may not be a professional mechanic but he could tell that this thing was dead. It was in bad condition when he got it, but this drive finally zapped the last of its life. He was sure it was repairable but he didn't feel it was a good enough car to spend that kind of money on. So, with a sigh of aggravation and exhaustion, he left the keys in the driver's seat, made sure there was nothing he wanted left in it, and left the car. He was sure that if anyone wanted it they'd take it and could very well have it.

He was given a small blessing as he noticed a bus stop was nearby. He caught it and sat in one of the few seats left in the crowded thing. Some people gave him strange looks. A thin, pale, dark looking kid with long hair and a weird green hat was a bit out of place here in California, but no one said anything to him.

A stop or two after he boarded a little old lady came onto the bus. She seemed nice and caring and like someone you'd love to have as a neighbor. Unfortunately the seats were full and no one seemed willing to give theirs up. Mike shook his head, unable to believe their selfishness. So, raised to be a gentleman, he stood and gestured to the seat. "Ma'am, you can sit here if you'd like." His accent was still strong, but not as much as when he was angry.

The lady smiled warmly. "Oh, thank you, young man. That's very kind." She took his offered seat. She didn't seemed at all phased by his outfit or accent. Mike couldn't help but notice that she seemed nice and smelled of cookies and cakes. That only reminded him of his hunger, "I'm Mike Nesmith. Do you bake Miss..." The nice lady nodded. "Ms. Purdy. And yes I do. Can you cook Mr. Nesmith?" Mike nodded. "Yes... well.. I did. I have no kitchen right now. But when I did I could cook very well."

Ms. Purdy frowned a little at that statement. She found that she took a liking to this young man, he wasn't at all like most of the kids she met that was his age, "Oh, why's that Mr. Nesmith?" She only got a shrug in response; she seemed genuinely concerned but he still wasn't going to explain what happened in the past few days. He was never very sociable and kept his business to himself but now... his mother's death drew him into his shell even more then before. Still... she seemed so worried he couldn't ignore the question, "I'm looking for a house right now. I... moved. But didn't get a place set up first."

Ms. Purdy nodded sadly. She could imagine he probably left something bad behind, from what she could tell from his eyes. He hid things well, but something was fresh on his mind. Suddenly her eyes brightened. "Oh! My landlord has a place. It just opened up when the prior tenants moved. It's a very nice place and very cheap. If you were to get roommates I'm sure it would be a synch to afford. Just no pets are allowed."

Mike nodded, not smiling but Ms. Purdy could swear he looked a little brighter. "That's great. Where is it?"

For the remainder of the ride Ms. Purdy told him that it was a nice little beach house, able to comfortably hold one to four people. It had good neighbors and about the landlord, Mr. Babbit. She gave Mike Babbit's phone number and the address but shortly after she had to say goodbye. She reached her stop and got off, where Mike then retook his seat and ran the information over in his head as he turned the card over in his fingers. He could probably afford the place if he got a regular job or roommates. But he had lived with just him and his mom for so long he wasn't sure he could live with roommates... they would probably be his age and he still found 20-something-year-olds obnoxious most of the time.

Again his stomach growled, knocking him out of his thoughts. He still needed to eat - all the talk of a place to stay distracted him from why he got on the bus in the first place. Finally he disembarked a few stops from where Ms. Purdy got off. He didn't know why he had the sudden urge to stop the bus there but he did. So once on the sidewalk he stretched, glad to be able to stretch out his cramped muscles.

A nearby restaurant caught his eye. Nothing seemed special about this place and there were plenty of other restaurants on the block but he was drawn to this particular one. Mike knew that he had to trust his gut.

He entered and ordered some dinner. As was habit with him, he didn't get much but he needed to eat. He sat in the most secluded corner away from people and ate silently. He was running over everything in his mind so didn't really want or need distractions. He could afford a couple days at the hotel and some bus fare. Perhaps he should talk to this Mr. Babbit and see if there's some way he can move in and have some time to get a job before having to pay rent.

He finished his dinner quickly but didn't want to go back to the hotel... he had been stuffed up in a car for days so it was nice to just sit and relax for a while. He ordered another bottle of coca-cola and sat back, thoughts carrying him away again.

It wasn't long till his thoughts were interrupted as someone sat at his table. He looked up a little startled, wondering who in the world would sit at someone else's dinner table uninvited. He was still on edge and worried his temper might break through... he hated when people sat near him on a bench uninvited and this was no different. But strangely he was more curious then angry at the moment. The kid who sat down looked about Mike's age, probably a little younger. He had long hair, similar to Mike but a different style and color. The kid's eyes sparkled with mischief... but there was something beyond that sparkle. Behind that gleam of fun there was something dark and serious in this stranger's eyes... Mike could relate to whatever it was. There was more to this kid then met the eye and that sparked Mike's curiosity even further.

The kid acted as if joining someone else's table uninvited was normal. Normally Mike would be terribly be aggravated at the intrusion, but right now he found his mood somewhat lightened for the first time in a week. Mike could see the stranger's eyes glance down at his bandaged hand but he didn't say anything, either deciding it wasn't a good topic choice or simply didn't care. Then the kid just stared at Mike a few moments as if regarding him... and his hat. Mike stared back, no stranger to staring contests but this one, unlike most others he's had, had no malice in it... just mild curiosity. Finally the kid spoke up, "Isn't that really hot to wear in this weather?" And for the first time in what seemed like an eon... Mike smiled.


	3. Micky's Chapter

**~Wanting to be, to hear and to see - Crying to the sky~**

* * *

**Warnings for this chapter:** This one is a little more graphic/violent then the other chapters. There are themes of child abuse (if you count teenage years as child) and language. Obviously there's mild violence but most of it is only touched on, not necessarily described.

* * *

George Michael Dolenz (Micky as he was more commonly called) had a rather nice childhood. He could reflect back to his early years as a fun time in his life. For years he was just an average playful young boy - on a daily basis he'd go on adventures and, of course, get into things he shouldn't. In fact he knew his parent's lectures by heart and so did his sister, Coco. Unlike most girls, she loved playing the same things Micky did. Rather then dolls and tea party's she'd help Adventurer Micky in his quest to defeat the dreaded Bully from across the street and get the golden baseball back from the monster's lair. Then when that quest was accomplished she was more then happy to play a short game of one-on-one baseball with him.

His mother was a loving, stay-at-home woman who was always there for when one of her kids got a scrap. His father was a strong man; he supported his family and made sure everyone followed the rules. He had a cat named Fusker who was a troublemaker, but to Mickey's eyes (and Coco's) little Fucker was a dreaded monster hiding under the stairs guarding the magical baseball glove.

Their mom was sure to make sure that both Micky and his sister could cook for themselves, clean for themselves and do anything else she could teach them. Occasionally the home cooked dinner, which they ate every night, would be cooked by exclusively Micky and Coco. Micky's father had the same ideas about teaching the kids. Even Coco had to learn how to fix a cabinet or check basic things on a car. Through both parent's teachings Micky had learned how to take care of himself completely when on his own. He didn't realize it at the time, but that would become a necessary tool very early in his life.

One day, little Micky found out that his Daddy was going to war. He didn't know it, but that day would be the start of the end of his childhood. It wasn't noticeable at first; he and Coco would still battle the mean Bully across the street and blame the mischievous Fusker if they broke something. But that would change soon.

Micky didn't know why some guy came to live in his house only a year after his Dad left. He didn't know his Mommy and Daddy had gotten into a fight. His mom only told him that 'Daddy is being mean and I need someone to help around the house.' Somehow he knew that was not the truth but he couldn't get any more truth than that. From the start he knew this new guy, Hank, wasn't quite right and one night, he consulted Coco about it, and found she felt the same. Neither of them trusted him and they could both feel something bad was on the horizon.

They didn't know it at the time, but they were right in their lack of trust. Hank had seen that Micky's mom was weak with the pain of her loved one being away and maybe not even coming back. Hank knew how to sweet-talk her and by the time she realized that he wasn't the good for the family it was to late. He was already firmly in place, sucking life right out of everyone. By this time it was just to late and there was nothing she could do at risk of making things even worse.

In just the first year that Hank came into his family Micky saw a drastic change. Suddenly his Mom had to work double (and shortly after that, triple) to just support the family because Hank refused to work, despite how much he spent. Not only that, but Micky had a new baby sister. It was weird, since for as long as he could remember it was just him and Coco. Micky was fine with this new baby, and it was his dad's kid, but it was still a drastic change and his mom still was never home.

Coco had been sent off to a fancy school, thanks to Hank. Micky knew his mom could barely afford things as it was but this was making it nearly impossible to afford anything else. Coco could only come home on weekends and Hank even tried telling her to not come home then. For Micky's baby sister, Hank usually had her sent to a baby sitter, which wasn't as expensive as Coco's school but it still drained money. Micky wondered at first why Hank didn't send him to some school, but he found out the first day he was alone with the man. Hank needed a punching bag when he got drunk and angry. Micky was still young, so it wasn't usually very bad but that would probably change in time. Still... as Micky saw it, it could be worse. Hank never did any real damage. It was only a slap here or there but he knew in his gut it was only going to get worse.

Very quickly young Mr. Dolenz realized that he needed to get a job. He had to support himself as much as he could, as to take some strain away from his mom, but he also knew that he needed to stay away from Hank as much as possible. Although he couldn't get a real job, at only thirteen, he could volunteer places and help stores who knew his family. He started off as just a paperboy but he worked his way up to longer hours from there. When he was fifteen he got a real job, which offered decent pay and long hours. Exactly what he needed.

As a child Micky had learned the guitar. He had learned on his own and it was something that stuck with him throughout the years. In time he had even learned the drums. It wasn't long until Micky realized that his heart lay with drumming. He was energetic and the drums complimented his natural nature. As he grew, so did his love for music. If he wasn't at work or school he was quite often in his room with the newest musical record he managed to afford. He would be air drumming or strumming along with his eyes closed, completely into the music. Unfortunately Hank hated it. Hank despised everything about Micky and Micky knew this but simply didn't care. He would do what he could to keep Hank happy but dropping his music was _not_ in the cards.

Shortly after he had turned sixteen he found out the hard way just how much Hank hated Micky's music.

* * *

It had been a good day at work and Micky was feeling terrific. He sat behind the drum set in his room and picked up a pair of sticks. He knew that he probably shouldn't play. Hank was getting drunk and Micky had the misfortune of having to be home. But it wasn't late, only about 7pm, so he decided to go ahead and play for a little while anyway. He turned on the record he was currently listening to, making sure the volume was low, and began playing along as the music began. It was only about halfway through the first track when Micky could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end - but against his better judgment he kept on drumming. And even more unfortunate was that he was having trouble playing quietly on this song.

As the song faded out the door to his room burst open. Hank looked quiet angry... and drunk. Without warning he rushed at Micky, who got entangled in the drum set and couldn't get away in time. Hank grabbed Micky's hair and painfully yanked him away from the set, earning a pained hiss which only fueled Hank. Micky struggled to get away but knew there was no hope. Hank was drunk and nothing could stop him when he got into a fit like this. Hank took the record from the turntable and smashed it over Micky's head, getting vinyl scattered around on the ground and littering Micky's hair.

At this point Micky managed to get away and nearly made it to the doors but he wasn't fast enough - one of his sticks hit him squarely in the back. The pain made him loose balance and fall over a discarded shirt on the ground.

With that Hank shut the door to muffle the sounds as he 'punished' Micky for playing the drums.

By the time Hank passed out Micky was bruised and bleeding. Holding his arm, which had been twisted awkwardly at one point, he quickly limped downstairs and out of the house. He needed to get away. He didn't care that he was bleeding badly and his clothes were torn. People would probably just think he was some stupid kid who got into a fight. Hank had never been that vicious and deadly before (though Hank had still been a lot worse then Micky would admit to himself) and Micky knew... just _knew_ that it was the start of what was to come.

He wandered down the street with ragged breath The sun had gone down quite some time ago but his neighborhood wasn't that bad. One thing was certain, and that was that there was less danger in the streets then compared to his own house.

Time passed in a haze; Micky was unable to focus on much more then the pain and shock... and feeling that he may pass out at any time. Finally something snapped him out of it when a movement caught his the corner of his eye. He realized now that he was a good distance from home and a bit of a shadier street but it wasn't that bad. But more importantly than that was that he was passing a dark alley and the movement came from there. He knew it was stupid to be curious about a dark alley at night but he was hardly thinking straight so couldn't seem to stop himself as he stood in the entrance of the alley, leaning heavily on one of the walls. "H-hello?" His voice was weak and shook a little, though it wasn't from fear. He knew he needed to rest soon but something was drawing him to find out what he had seen.

It was a few moments until the figure that stood in the darkness answered back, "Whoever it is, go away." Micky was frozen at the sound of the voice, temporarily forgetting everything else. The voice sounded remarkably similar to his own, only rougher and darker. Micky shook his head a little bit, snapping himself out of it. The tone of this person's voice was not to be argued with and in his current state, Micky wouldn't be able to if he wanted.

He was just starting to turn when the figure finally stepped into the dim light that barely trickled into the alley. Micky's eyes widened... this person was a mirror image of himself. It was as if he was an identical twin. But there were a couple key differences; firstly his clothes were much different. They weren't the relatively hip clothes that Micky wore, but were more like business casual clothing. Besides that... his eyes were dark - very dark... but oddly enough... Micky felt he could relate to something in them. The person stared back at Micky, it was easy to tell that he was also amazed at seeing a doppelganger of himself but he hid it better than Micky could.

Neither spoke for a few long minutes. It was Micky who broke the silence, mostly because he was pretty sure he'd collapse if he had to stand like this any longer, "Um... My name is Micky." His double stared back and only now did Micky realize just how dark an sinister those eyes looked. It was bone chilling to see such a callous look on his own face... The double regarded Micky with scrutiny and seemed as if he didn't noticed Micky's injuries, or simply didn't care about them, "Call me Baby Face."

Micky nodded, unable to do much more. The wall was his only support at this point and it seemed to be slipping slowly from his shoulder. Finally Baby Face regarded Micky's bruises and blood, "Get into a fight did ya?" Micky was still a little surprised to hear his own voice speaking to him, but at the same time it _wasn't_ his voice. It was much more gravely sounding and low, which Micky was kind of glad for. He didn't even want to think of how tripped out it would be to have this person, Baby Face, speak in a voice exactly like his own.

Finally Micky shook his head, still fighting off the daze that threatened to engulf his mind. He was tired and just worn out - who knew getting beat would be so exhausting, "No fight..." Micky didn't really want to go on from there... he knew that if anyone went to the cops there would be hell to pay. When Baby Face saw that he got all the explanation he could, he stepped forward and closer to Micky. The drummer felt his muscles tense a little. He didn't know why but Baby Face frightened him. There was something in his eyes or demeanor that just dripped of danger. In fact... Micky was more afraid of Baby Face than he ever was of Hank. Unfortunately he was in no position to protest right now as Baby Face strongly (but not roughly) took Micky by the arm and helped him further into the alley, efficiently pulling him out of the view of anyone who could come to his aid if Baby Face attacked him.

Micky worriedly let Baby Face lead him into a building which had a door connected to the alley. It opened into a bare room with only a couple pieces of furniture in it, which had one door inside of it which lead into a bathroom. Micky could spot another door on the opposite side of the room but it was efficiently sealed off. That made Micky decide that this room was probably attached to a store or something, but now had no other access then the alley. It seemed almost like a bare apartment - clean and empty. Baby Face answered the question Micky was just about to ask, "I know the owner. He won't mind and won't be back for a while." He unceremoniously, but still relatively gently, plopped Micky onto the couch and went to the bathroom.

Baby Face returned with a first aid kit and set it on the sofa next to Micky before sitting across from him in a relatively comfortable looking chair. After a moment of Micky not moving he spoke up, "Don't expect me to fix you up. Do it yourself or bleed to death but if you choose the latter then get out. I don't want to bury or explain a dead body."

Micky took a deep breath and forced himself to sit up before he slowly started fixing himself up. This had defiantly been the worst Hank had ever gotten, despite having gotten really bad in the past, and Micky knew that he would have scars left over. He tried not to focus on that and instead focused on his task of bandaging himself.

All the while he could feel himself being regarded but didn't say anything. Almost immediately as he was done Baby Face spoke up, "You didn't get in a fight. Someone you know did this to you." He spoke matter-of-factly as is he was certain. Micky simply nodded, pretending to adjust a bandage on his hand, "Yea... his name is Hank... He came to live with my family about six years ago. Sometimes he gets... angry with me. Usually it's just threats though. It never got this bad before." Micky kind of wondered why he said that. If Baby Face went to the police then there would be hell to pay and besides that, Micky wasn't sure if his mom could deal with even more to worry about. But when Micky looked up into Baby Face's eyes he knew that nobody would be going to the police. Instead Baby Face simply nodded with a sort of empathy in his voice as he gave a simple, "I know."

After that it seemed that the ice had been broken. The two of them talked as Micky tried to regain some energy. Just as Micky had felt, Baby Face also had to deal with an abusive guardian. Also... Micky was right in fearing Baby Face at first - Baby Face was getting slowly involved in a life of crime - but now... Micky didn't really fear him (or at least as much as before.) Micky finally returned home in the early morning hours to see Hank had moved to the couch. He was careful to sneak up into his room and straightened some things out before passing out from his bed feeling much better than when he left the house many hours earlier. He wouldn't say he made a friend... but he did meet someone whom he could relate to.

* * *

It was only a little later that year Micky had found a band that needed a drummer. He was thankful to be able to spend even less time at home. He made sure to kept in touch with Baby Face. Micky learned that Baby Face wasn't only getting involved with the life of crime but he was actually involved in a gang. This news shocked Micky yet he didn't think anything less of his double. In a way Micky felt even more grateful to the criminal because Micky knew that whenever Hank really went off there was always a place he could go to fix himself up with no questions asked. Baby Face was dark and cruel. The drummer knew that if he ever happened to get on _his_ bad side, he'd be much worse off then with Hank. But despite a life of crime, Baby Face still decided to help Micky so he concluded that his double was not all bad. If he were he'd have never of helped Micky in the first place.

Occasionally the otherwise selfish young criminal even helped Micky out to a higher degree. Micky never forgot the night when he was getting off work late. Micky had parked a long way from the building so on his way to the car he was jumped. Micky knew his attackers would be even more angry with him when they realized how empty his wallet was. Apparently Baby Face was stalking that part of the town because shortly after it started it was over. By the time Micky looked up Baby Face was glaring menacingly after the retreating forms of the muggers, limping away with bruised prides and even more bruised bodies. All Baby Face had received was a sore jaw in the scuffle. Micky thanked Baby Face and neither of them spoke of that night again, but neither of them forgot it. The fact that Baby Face put himself in harms way for someone else always was in the back of their minds.

In time Micky developed a schedule that repeated itself nearly every day...  
-Get up as late as possible... yet still way too early;  
-Make Hank breakfast before he hits me with something;  
-Get ready for work;  
-Make Hank something for lunch for him to eat later;  
-Rush to work barely on time;  
-Go home and make Hank dinner before he hits me with something or breaks something;  
-Clean up from work and get ready for the rest of the evening;  
-Hurry cleaning up house and dinner dishes;  
-Rush over to Bob's house to practice or do a gig;  
-Come home as quiet as possible as to not wake up Hank who is, hopefully, passed out on the sofa;  
-Gather supplies for school and rush off to college night classes;  
-Come home and pray Hank did not wake up. He can never remember I have night classes and refuses to believe me every time. A lesson learned the hard way.;  
-Pass out on bed, fully clothed;  
-Catch three or four hours of sleep if I'm lucky. But usually closer to one or two.;  
-Fit in food on the go and study or schoolwork whenever I can

Despite all of this Micky didn't mind his life, once he got used to it. He'd never have called himself an unhappy teenager. He decided early on that it was what it was. His job was easy enough and only on occasion was it draining. He was used to running on small amounts of sleep and because he was young he could manage it with ease. Life was life.

He still hated it when Hank out of control. Generally the drunken bastard would just threaten Micky. Occasionally a slap or punch to keep Micky in line if Hank thought he was over stepping his bounds. But when something set Hank off there was no stopping him. Generally it was when he was extremely drunk was that he could get ticked off easiest. Micky tried avoiding Hank at those times, or when he had no choice but to be home he'd try to stay away from the drunk. But he couldn't avoid it all the time. Hank was getting a shorter temper with Micky as he got older. To make it worse Hank was getting more violent.

Generally Micky could get to these injuries before they resulted in problems and Baby Face seemed to know tricks to make scars fade, or some injuries not to scar up at all. Some markings Micky knew he'd carry for his whole life but he knew how to hide them or temporarily fade.

It was only a little over a year (perhaps closer to one and a half years) after first meeting Baby Face that the young gangster told Micky that he'd have to be leaving. Baby Face's own path was leading him away and he couldn't tell Micky where or why. He said it was for Micky's own safety that Micky simply didn't know. He told Micky that he would be able to continue to use the little apartment but to be careful because if some other gang found it Micky wouldn't have anyone to protect him. One of the last things Baby Face told Micky was a warning. He told Micky that, should they ever meet again, to be wary of him. Baby Face wasn't sure if he'd remember Micky, and even if he did it was unlikely it would stop him from whatever he may have to do. He was getting deep into a life of crime and from here on out couldn't let personal feelings get in the way of his actions anymore. Micky couldn't completely understand but still felt very grateful and thankful for this criminal to have come into his life.

It was sad to say good-bye for the last time. Deep down Micky knew that they both helped each other out a lot. They were one of, if not the only, people to have seen though each others exteriors. Baby Face helped Micky more than he could ever repay and Micky had unknowingly instilled a strange degree of morality in the otherwise angry criminal.

Even without Baby Face, however, life was life. One small blessing was that his sisters never saw Hank's anger. Micky couldn't piece together why, however. Micky and his sisters all had the same father; but he didn't care. All Micky knew was that as long as Hank's anger was directed at Micky rather then the rest of his family then it would be okay. So because of this Micky knew he couldn't move out yet. If he left he was afraid his Mom or one of his sisters would get Hank's brutality. That was something Micky couldn't allow so he stayed.

Despite the schedule of little sleep and even less study he still managed to get top grades. Well, he could get top grades if it was an interesting class. If he found the subject boring he couldn't concentrate for the life of him and was more than once called into the office for falling asleep in class. Science, however, was always interesting. Chemistry was his favorite science but truthfully he liked them all. He'd get wrapped up in a lesson while the rest of the class was half-asleep. But despite loving science he couldn't' help but love music more.

In the future Micky would reflect on his teenage years with a sort of indifference. He wouldn't call them bad, though many others would. He knew that it was not what a person his age should go through but there was nothing he could do about it and nothing he could do to change it years later. Most people would have become bitter at life but Micky wasn't like most people. As a kid he was always quickly and fun loving and that never changed. Truthfully a bit of the sincerity fell away but not all of it. Micky obtained a level to himself... becoming a little darker and more contemplative in those years. He usually wasn't entirely concerned for himself, especially when someone else was in trouble, but he still enjoyed life. It was very quick that he developed the excellent defense mechanism of humor. He learned that when he was angry or sad or simply didn't want to show his true emotions... he could make a joke. No one would question him since it was his regular nature.

One day he'll always remember very clearly, however, was one in particular. It started off normal and declined quickly. But by the end of the day turned into the highlight of his life.

* * *

Micky was floating. The clouds were his company right now. He looked down. He saw his mom, dad, Coco, Madelyn (His baby sister) and, of course, Fusker. All of them seemed happy and were waving at him as he went by. He glided over the back yard of his house and saw a young version of him and Coco playing in their favorite tree. He smiled at the fond memories.

Suddenly some unseen force crashed into his stomach. It knocked the air out of him as he plummeted to the ground. Right before he was splattered on the grass the ground his eyes shot open to find himself safely on his bed. A large, old textbook was lying on his stomach. That was what hit him. Seconds later a slurred yell cam from his doorway. It hurt his still half asleep ears but he managed to keep himself from groaning, "Micky! Get your lazy ass down here! You have things to do, boy!" The door slammed, rattling things on shelves in his room but luckily nothing more.

Micky groaned quietly, unhappy to be woken up so early and in such a rough manner. He was much more tired then normal -. Why? Micky didn't drink or go to parties and he didn't have a terribly late class last night... Then he remembered, "_Oh yea... there was a test last night. All of the study over the past weeks finally caught up to me I guess."_ He sat up, the book falling to the ground and muscles complaining to the unfair treatment. He stretched as he tried to focus on waking up, "_Still... lit was the last day of school at least so I might be able to get some sleep tonight... if Hank is in a good enough mood."_

Quietly he mumbled to himself, trying to force his tired eyes to focus as he ran his fingers through his messy hair, "M'kay... So. First thing to do would be to make Hank's breakfast before he get's angry."

He stood and stretched again, his pajama pants hanging loosely on thin hips and pajama shirt wrinkled and baggy. This caused him a moment of pause - he didn't remember changing into pajamas last night, and he usually wore his clothes to bed anyway. But then again he could barely remember getting home last night in his exhaustion so he shook off the feeling. Before he even had a chance to gather himself before a loud and angry shout ran through the house, "Micky, don't make me come up there!" Micky huffed, annoyed. He really wished this man would learn how to take care of his own damn self. Without any more pause he headed out of the door and downstairs. He didn't want to test Hank's patience this morning.

As he passed Hank, Micky's expression turned into that of a rather blank look, which he perfected with the help of Baby Face. He knew better then to look annoyed around Hank, and he had found that sometimes looking happy also annoyed the man. He politely asked what Hank wanted for breakfast and the answer was spat back at him as if it was somehow Micky's fault for Hank's hangover.

Quickly Micky prepared the food - as usual he didn't even bother with making himself something. He'd long ago given up eating breakfast or almost any full meal, for that matter. As soon as the over-sized breakfast was served and coffee pot started he headed back up the stairs to the bathroom. He undressed and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water finally wake him up and soothe his sore tired muscles.

Unfortunately by the time he got out and ready for work he was already running about ten minutes late. He knew there was nothing that could be done about it though since Hank wanted a hot lunch ready for him when the time came. If Micky didn't take time to make it he'd be much worse of then just late to work. Nobody was home today so Hank wouldn't hold back his anger at all. Micky really didn't feel like getting beat (when did he ever) and he already had to replace one pair of work clothes destroyed in a rage... he didn't want to replace another.

Once he was finished with Hank's lunch, Micky poured a large mug of coffee and took off to work. He probably broke a few traffic laws and speed limits in his attempt to get to work on time but still was fifteen minutes late. Micky clocked in with a bad feeling resting on his gut - the supervisors gave him strange looks most of the day. Micky knew that they had been looking for an excuse to fire him for months now. He was a long-haired weirdo, after all; A teenager who was nothing more then a troublemaker. Of course none of this was true, about him. He worked quite well, probably one of the best workers in the place, but that didn't matter. And now, he was afraid that he might have given them their chance to get rid of him.

At the end of the shift Micky clocked out and was about to leave when the supervisor pulled him aside, "Mr. Dolenz... we need to talk." Micky involuntarily shuddered. He needed this job right now. He couldn't loose it but he knew he had no say in the matter. Micky was led a little away from the main area of the building so as not to be seen by any customers and give them a private conversation.

"Now, Micky, you've been a great worker for the time you've been with us. It's rare to find an employee so willing to work for however long necessary and any whenever asked." The man paused and Micky help his breath. "_Here it comes... How will they word it?"_ "But you've been late every day for a week now, young man. True it's usually five minutes or less but it's not a good habit to be in. But then today was inexcusable. I'm sorry Mr. Dolenz but you're relieved of your duties here."

Micky felt shocked. He had known that this was coming but that didn't make it any better and it certainly didn't make him need this job any less, "But sir... I-" The older man cut him off in mid-word. "Go, Mr. Dolenz, before we have to call security to escort you out."

Micky's face turned dull and blank; one of the few times he didn't cover that up. He knew they didn't like him being a 'long haired weirdo' but he was still a good worker. This was the first week his entire time working here that he was ever late, and he even volunteered to stay later if needed. Well... there was no use about it any more. His face turned from being blank to that of feigned emotional hurt. His emotional shield was back up again. If he was going to go he'd go in style. Everyone in the building would know and have something to say about it. He took a couple steps back so the customers could see him -the place was crowded so that was just that much better. He loved an audience. With that, he forced a couple tear,. "Fine... I'll go." He sniffled and threw the back of his hand up to his forehead, "I'll go to the cruel wide world, unable to pay for my food." He forced some more show tears and body wracking sobs, burying his face in his hands. After a few moments of sobbing _very_ loudly he looked up, face red and stained with tears, "How will I ever survive? How will I ever take care of my baby sister?" With that he sniffled and gasped sadly and noisily left, all eyes on him. He had drawn a lot of attention and with that last statement he probably made some mothers there rather upset with management.

Micky sat in his car and started the engine, gathering himself up from the performance and smiling to himself. He put on quiet a show; he knew everyone had watched and believed his act. Truthfully he had stretched the truth a bit. Yes, he had a baby sister but he didn't need to pay for her needs. The audience didn't need to know that though. He dried the last of his tears, proud with himself over that... he never was able to force that many fake tears before. Very good.

But the pride soon faded as reality sunk in again. Good show or not, it didn't stop the fact that he was now jobless. He had no income at all. His mom was struggling enough as it was without needing to support him. Normally his paycheck went to supporting himself and the rest to help her out. Without that... she'd be bad off. And to make matters worse he now had no school and no work. He would be stuck home with Hank quite a lot.

_"Now's not the time to worry about it. I've got to get home and hurry with Hank's dinner. I can't be late to Bob's... there's a gig tonight."_

Micky was able to get home in good time, and started Hank's dinner. The thought to have something to eat himself flirted through his mind but he waved it off. He was busy tonight and besides, preforming on a full stomach could have bad consequences. Maybe after the gig he could pick something up on the way home but not now. After he finished cooking the dinner he served it to Hank noticing that the leech seemed relatively sober. That was rare but didn't mean he was any less dangerous.

Micky quickly started cleaning house - it was amazing how much of a mess one drunken man could make. He didn't even have any time to freshen himself up by the time he was cleaning. Hank had finished eating and waited for Micky to clean up the dinner dishes as he sat and flicked through channels on the television. Micky knew he was supposed to clean up the dishes and put the left over food away, but today he was once again running late and they had a gig. He couldn't be to late or the whole group would suffer. Hank didn't care, he just wanted Micky to do as he was told, "Boy! Get your ass over here and clean these up! Now!"

Micky's hand was already on the door handle and turning it when he paused and turned to face Hank. He knew it was a mistake as the words tumbled out of his mouth but he wasn't thinking straight and couldn't catch himself if time. His mouth was often ahead of his brain and it usually cost him. Today would be no exception, "Couldn't you do them today? I really need to go" His tone was a little whining but the words, to most people, would have been agreeable. Hank didn't see it that way.

Micky turned and started to go again, hoping to get out of there before Hank could stop him again or punish him for what he said. He opened the door almost halfway but was stopped by Hank, who was already behind him and grabbed Micky's shoulder painfully, spinning him around. Micky gasped in shock and as soon as he was facing Hank the man drew back his fist and smashed it straight into Micky's jaw. The attack caught him off balance and Micky was flung backwards into the partially opened door, slamming it shut forcefully.

He grabbed his jaw, looking at Hank with wide eyes. That would probably bruise. He wasn't really worried about a bruise except that there was a gig tonight and he didn't want it to show. Besides that he was still caught off guard by the fierceness of the attack, he expected maybe a slap but not this angry of a reaction, "Wh-what I do?"

Hank looked absolutely furious with Micky, though Micky couldn't really tell why. Hank grabbed Micky by he collar of his shirt, holding the younger man firmly, "Don't you dare talk back to me, boy!" A confused look flashed across Micky's face. Once again his mouth got away from him because before he could stop himself, words sprang from his lips, "I-I didn't. I just asked you to-" His sentence was cut off as he felt the air rush from his lungs. Hank let him go and Micky grabbed his stomach where Hank punched him, doubled over in pain. On one hand he hated when Hank went for his stomach but on the other hand he was glad that bruises weren't noticeable there.

After a few moments to catch his breath he straightened and looked at Hank. The man simply glared back with a frightening sort of hate, "Get out." Micky stared at Hank confused for a moment, thinking he heard wrong, "Wha-" "Get out! And don't come back. You no longer live in this house."

Micky stared at Hank, feeling like he was hit in the face with a brick. True ,Hank had threatened him before with this, but all those times the man was drunk and never remembered the threat by morning. Hank was sober now so he knew what he was doing and what he was doing was kicking Micky out.

Finally Micky nodded a bit "_Mom can't support me. So why not?"_ Just like earlier in the day, the shock was erased from his features and was replaced by a Shakespearean styled woe, "Fine! I'll go into the cruel world. No home... no food... no family." He raised his the back of his hand to his forehead as Hank grew more enraged by the second, "Please... think of me in the cold nights as you're eating your nice warm dinners and I'm left to scavenge for food like a mutt."

With that he spun around and bolted out of the door. As soon as he got outside he heard the sound of a fist hitting the door where Micky had just been standing, and that was followed by angry cursing. Micky smiled to himself extremely proudly, "To fast for ya this time, Hankypoo."

He sighed, reality once again rushing into him after the high from his spectacular exit. He glanced at the car but decided against taking it... it wasn't his. He didn't even have the keys on him at the moment so it wouldn't have mattered anyway. He'd have to walk. Luckily for Micky, it wasn't far, just a couple blocks. He left the property briskly, hands in his pockets. He refused to look back. He knew that this time he wouldn't be entering that doorway again.

On the way to Bob's house his mind wandered. The stinging in his jaw and throbbing in his stomach was almost forgotten, though it was unclear whether that was from being used to it or his mind just focusing on more important things. Like what was to become of Madelyn and Coco and his Mom? Coco still went to that fancy school but she'd be getting out soon. With Coco, though, she was about his age so perhaps she could move out of the house immediately, taking Madelyn. He vaguely wondered what would happen to his stuff? Would it be kept it there in his room and his mom told him, the few times she ever came home, that he was simply not home at the moment? Or was Hank at this very moment tossing everything out to the curb? Would he even be able to retrieve any of it again? Micky didn't have many positions anymore... Hank broke things so often that Micky learned to not bother with material items but he still had some priceless things like pictures.

He shook his head, pulling himself from thought. He was already at Bob's house. He quickly stepped up to the front door and knocked. Once again he had the feeling he had when going to work. Micky just assumed (hoped) that it was nerves from everything that had happened so far today but deep down he knew that he wouldn't be so lucky.

Steve answered the door, his bass strung loosely around his shoulder. He, as was the rest of the group, were all in their performance attire. He didn't look happy to see Micky, but the drummer just put it down to not being in his performance clothes. He knew there was a spare outfit that could fit him, though.

Putting on his usual happy face he bounced in, the problems of the day temporarily forgotten. Whenever he got to play music his troubles just faded away. It had been his lifesaver through out the years.

Dick, the guitarist and bandleader, stared at Micky hard for a moment. Micky had seen that kind of look enough to know that he was thinking of something that would be probably bad for someone, and in this case Micky. Micky glanced around to the other members of the group and noticed that everyone looked tense and serious. Then a figure in the corner of the room caught his eyes. That person had performance attire on and drumsticks in his pockets. Before Micky could inquire about this Dick motioned for him to sit. Micky did, his happy, spunky smile fading into a serious tone. A person could only keep a fake smile up for so long before it got to be just to much.

"What's going on.?"

Dick stared at Micky for a few more moments, regarding the drummer. Micky waited and sat still, keeping a serious look on even though he was feeling almost painfully anxious. He knew that something bad was coming, there was no use thinking otherwise. Finally Dick spoke up, "Listen... Micky. The thing is. You sing, but we all sing. I don't think your voice... fits. Besides, you're primarily the drummer and drummers shouldn't sing." Micky opened his mouth to protest but Dick cut him off before he could even get a syllable out, "Also... you play drums. That's fine, a group needs the set. But then you start fooling around when we don't give you enough fills. Hell even when we _do_ give you fills you screw around. We don't need that in our group." Micky tried to object and, yet again, was cut off before he could get a word out. "Further-more, when you play guitar you act like a fool. Every time."

Finally Micky managed to speak, "But the crowds love it! The audience is always ecstatic after I do my thing." Dick shook his head, "No Micky. I don't care. Your _thing_ will keep us from ever being taken seriously." Micky sat up straight, raising his voice a little in anger and a little bit of desperation, "But we're a garage band! No one will take us seriously if we fool around or not!" Dick's voice was still steady, although he seemed aggravated at Micky's protests, "We've decided it would be more beneficial to the group as a whole if we... change some members around. That means taking you out of the group."

Micky glanced over to the guy in the corner. The poor kid didn't seem to pleased to be stuck in the middle of this drama, but Micky's first hunch was right -he was Micky's replacement. Micky looked back to Dick, his mind was black. He was extremely tired for multiple reasons and to top it off he just lost his only true love in life. It was like his entire life was thrown out the window today... school was finished, his job fired him, he was kicked out of his house and now this. He was just so fed up.

Micky had already put on a show twice today and didn't think he could manage a witty exit for a third time. At least not so soon after the last one. Instead his face hardened, erasing any window to his emotions. This was something else that Baby Face had helped him perfect in his time of knowing him. He stood up and started out of the house, keeping his eyes forward and body calm. One member, Harry, seemed mildly upset. He had seemed to like Micky a little more then the others and knew that this cold face was very rare with Micky. Micky vaguely heard him apologize quietly as he passed by him. Micky didn't even acknowledge that he heard it at all. Harry just felt guilty, that's all. It was obvious that Micky had been through shit today and then they dumped this on him. Harry was just guilty for having been involved in kicking Micky out of the group so why should Micky make him feel better?

He left the house without looking at any of them. He made it outside into the humid evening air and started walking. He knew he was going in the direction of town but didn't have any plans after that. He had nothing anymore... There was nothing left. He knew he couldn't go back to his house because Hank would kick him out again. The apartment Baby Face had given him had just recently been taken over by some homeless people and Micky didn't feel like fighting it out over a hideout.

He felt numb - there was nothing for him anymore. He'd lost everything at once and the reality finally crashed down on him. He felt a few hot tears slip from his eyes. He didn't bother to wipe them away... what was the point? More just kept coming, silently, as he walked mindlessly down the road.

In about an hour or so he found himself in town. He was nearly run over by a car and that pulled him back to reality enough to remind him that he was very thirsty. Although he hadn't eaten all day he wasn't hungry, but was very thirsty. He looked around to see if there was anything close-by. A few buildings down there was a nice looking restaurant. It seemed a mixture of a fast food and sit down kind of place and it best of all, it looked cheap.

Micky headed over and went in, deciding he could get a drink and rest his feet for a while, as he figured out where to go next. He went in and ordered a bottle of coca-cola from the "grab-n-dash" line then looked around. Most tables were full and the few that were not full didn't seem like they would much appreciate a long-haired teenager sitting down. A corner at the back of the room caught his eye, though. It had only one person sitting in it who seemed about Micky's age. He looked like he was brooding at the moment, but... oh well. It seemed like the best shot unless Micky wanted to sit on the curb. Carefully he maneuvered through the tables and the boy still didn't seem to notice Micky.

Micky pulled out the free chair and sat down opposite the black haired man. Now that he could see better Micky could tell that the boy was defiantly about as old as him, but probably a couple years older. He had long hair and his eyes were dark. Not in color but they showed that this boy had been through something traumatic, yet Micky could tell nothing else form his eyes. This wasn't, however, the same kind of darkness that was in Baby Face's eyes... it intrigued Micky but also told him to not overstep any lines (as if sitting at the table uninvited wasn't overstepping them.)

Micky glanced down at the strangers hand. He had really done a number on himself - only his fingers poked out from the gauze and even they were cut up a bit. Micky felt curiosity bite at him but knew better then to ask. Maybe they could get on that topic later, if he wasn't kicked out, but he knew that some topics should not be touched upon so soon after meeting.

Still... the stranger didn't say anything about Micky to move, so Micky decided that the intrusion wasn't minded to terribly bad. He stared at the man for a few moments, regarding him with mild curiosity. It didn't seem like this man smiled a lot, yet something about him seemed right. Finally Micky's eyes slipped up to the green wool hat. It looked heavy and it was certainly humid and hot outside, even right now in the cooling evening. Finally Micky decide it would probably be the safest topic to try, Isn't that really hot to wear in this weather?" Micky was rewarded by a smile, and he smiled in return. His first true smile of the day.


	4. Davy's Chapter

**~When the world and I were young, just yesterday - Life was such a simple game, a child could play~  
**

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**Warnings for this chapter:** Nothing

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David Thomas Jones was a nice, average English boy. He was born and raised in Manchester England. His family was a bit large, consisting of Davy as well as two sisters and two brothers; he was the youngest of them all. His parents were wonderful.. his father a strong and caring man and his mum a very loving and supportive woman. The only flaw in this shining family was his mother's illness.

The Jones family was not rich by any means - in fact they were rather poor - but the children never felt it while they were young. Their parents couldn't afford to send their children to school... but their grandfather paid for it as well as many other expenses. Little Davy didn't realize that all the money his father could bring in went mostly to his mum's medical needs.

Davy was the youngest of his siblings and the shortest kid in his class. To top it off he had a very soft and feminine face. Thanks to these things Davy was usually picked on at school, even by his own siblings. Generally Davy ignored it; sometimes he'd make jokes or get people to like him with humor so he wasn't a loner by far. Still... David liked school plays and music in general; he especially loved singing. This fueled the teasing even more and occasionally the it got to be slightly violent. He was shorter and smaller then most kids his age so bullies tended to pick on him and try to beat him up. Very quickly Davy realized that when it came to these bullies, humor would not work. He developed a short temper and a strong fist quickly to take care of himself and soon enough he could hold his own against most bullies that bothered with him. Unfortunately the short temper soon leaked into his regular home life. It only took a few belts until he managed to learn how to control his temper, keeping it towards bullies and not his teachers or parents.

Davy loved his mum, she was kind and loving and truly supported his love for music and stage performance. Unfortunately when Davy was only seven she passed away. She had been sick with emphysema for as long as Davy could remember and finally she could no longer fight it. As much as Davy blocked that day out of his mind he could never forget one thing that happened.

It was a regular day - his mum was bedridden for a month already but nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. It was odd though... because all day she insisted that they had to remember to pay the electric bill on time. Nobody in the family could figure out why she was insisting on the electric bill while she was in such a bad state of health but they figured to of course pay it on time anyway. That night she peacefully drifted away in her sleep and even through the grief Davy decided it was a small blessing that she had passed away peacefully rather then in pain or a fit of some kind.

It wasn't until a couple of days later Davy finally remembered, through his grief, what his mum had been insisting on. He knew his dad probably wouldn't want to worry about the bill but he decided that his mum's last wish should be honored so he went to where the bills were kept, grabbing the electric bill just in the usual place that the bills were always kept - but there was something attached to it. Clipped to the bill, was the exact money to pay the bill... and a poem from Patience Song. Davy didn't understand it at the time but a few years later he realized that his mum had known that she was going to die. She knew she was going to die that night, in some way, and once Davy realized this years later he cried.

Months after his mum's death Davy's dad realized he could no longer support everyone. There were extra bills now, in addition to the once which still had to be paid. So, with Davy being the youngest and least able to help support by getting a job, he was sent off to live with his grandfather.

After recuperating from the tragedy of loosing his mother Davy found that he actually loved living with his grandfather. The man was just as loving as his parents were and had enough money to make sure that Davy had nice things once in a while. More important than any of that, though, was that he had horses. Davy had immediately fallen in love with the animal and it took him no time at all to learn how to ride and take care of a horse. Davy loved horses so much that his grandfather even 'gave' a horse to Davy as a birthday present. Of course this led to a whole lot more of responsibilities - He no longer could just go to the stables, ride for a while and go home. Having his own horse meant early morning stable cleanings, afternoon rides, and long coat grooming to follow... but Davy loved every second of it. When he was with the horses he found himself unable to get really angry, even when things went terribly wrong. It wasn't very long until this mellow mood trickled into his regular life - he still had a short temper but it wasn't as fiery as before.

Although Davy had made up his mind that he wanted to work with horses for his life, his grandfather still sent him to school a bit more than what Davy saw as necessary. Davy hated it - he hated school, schoolwork, homework... just everything involved with school was horrible. The only thing that kept him going was plays and musicals. His grandfather had a hunch when Davy was a child but became certain now that Davy had potential in the musical field so to make sure Davy would be well off in life, he pushed it.

In time Davy got tired of being pushed to become a success. Being told over and over to take his acting more seriously became a drag very quickly and took away from the fun of it. He honestly loved acting and putting on a show for people and he loved singing even more than that... but he wanted to do it for his own amusement - he felt that being forced to do it 'professionally' was taking away from that and soon he would resent it. If success somehow came his way then he'd embrace it, but if it didn't he felt perfectly content. Rather then going into show business Davy wanted to work with his horses instead; unfortunately for him, his grandfather did not agree with his way of thinking. His grandfather decided there was not enough potential in working with horses for a living. So, in return, he pushed even harder for Davy to become a success with acting. Davy didn't like it and soon was pushed to far.

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"Davy, you really need to make something of yourself. You have great potential. All you need to do is settle down a little."

Davy, who was eighteen, sighed, shaking his head. He and his grandfather had gone over this conversation more times then he wanted to even think about -probably once a day or more, "I'm happy how I am now. Soon I'll earn enough money to move out and even get my very own horse. I'm happy with that."

He knew it wouldn't work though. That argument never worked, but he ran out of ideas. Just as he had predicted his grandfather continued as if Davy hadn't even said anything, "You are going to do something with your life. I am not letting you stay here to fritter your life away. If you don't do something soon I'll do it for you. Like it or not."

Davy simply nodded, putting an end to the conversation and returning to what he was doing. He had made a decision in that moment and the next day he put it into motion; Davy bought a one way ticket to America. If his grandfather wanted to push something on him that he didn't want then he'd simply leave the country so that way he _couldn't_ push it on him anymore. He'd go to America, try a little bit to fulfill his grandfathers hopes and if that failed, which it probably would, then he'd continue his own dreams. Perhaps he would move back to England and perhaps not but either way he would focus on his own dreams.

When Davy told his grandfather that evening about the plane ticket, his grandfather refused to believe that his own grandson would make such a bold (and stupid) move like that.

When the day finally came to leave Davy finished triple checking all of his luggage. His grandfather appeared in the doorway and upon seeing the luggage he asked Davy where he was going and, again, Davy repeated that it was America. Finally it hit Davy's grandfather that Davy was, in fact, not joking. He was moving to America completely unprepared. He realized that he didn't properly hear where Davy was actually going to go - he had never paid attention in the past and the realization that it was actually happening shoved it from his mind again.

"Where did you say you were going?" Davy closed the last latch on his last suitcase as he sighed. He literally just answered this questions seconds ago, not to mention countless times over the past few days, "Again... America. There will be more opportunities for your dream for me to come true. If it doesn't work, I'll resume my own idea to work with horses." He looked up to his grandfather finally. If it weren't for being exhausted from the same discussion over and over he'd have probably found his grandfathers bewildered expression amusing. Although he never said it out loud, Davy knew his grandfather was thinking clearly "_How could you do such a stupid thing Davy?" _Davy was sure at any moment for the older man to say those exact words, but instead he just shook his head, "You have just as many opportunities here, young man. Just go to London. Now unpack and get some sense into you... You're eighteen, how could you possibly still be so foolish?"

Silently Davy shook his head. He finally had the chance to leave and his grandfather was trying everything to stop him. Davy wasn't sure if his grandfather was doing it because he truly believed Davy to be making a foolish mistake or if it was just because his grandfather didn't want Davy to leave yet, "Afraid I can't stay. The ticket is non-refundable." With that he straightened up, looking a little more confident over this decision than he felt, and grabbed the suitcases. There were only two; he packed that way because he had no plans for once he got to America - not even a hotel - so there was no saying how long he'd have to lug them around before he had someplace to put them. All he bothered with was clothes, small necessities and a couple important things to him.

"Grandfather... I'm going to go. But I'll do my best to make you proud." He noticed his grandfather's still confused and bewildered stare. Finally Davy sighed in mild defeat, deciding to reveal a little of the real reason he wanted to go, "It's just... something's pulling at me to go. I don't know why but I just feel I need to go... and now. Not a year from now... not a month... now." He shrugged. He knew his grandfather wouldn't understand and probably thought that was even more foolish, but right now Davy really had an almost painful pull to get to California immediately, "I'm going to California. That's one of my best chances to make something of myself. I'll make you proud."

Finally realizing he'd been defeated, his grandfather nodded and stepped out of the doorway, "Alright... Best of luck to ya David... I'll give you a lift to the airport."

That evening Davy found himself sitting in the cramped seats of the airport. Finally he allowed himself to feel anxious - the weeks of anticipation had turned into a reality. This was very exciting and scary at the same time. Everything was almost overwhelming but he'd take it a step at a time and decided it couldn't go wrong.

It wasn't long until Davy became tired of the boring insides of the plane and he quickly grew tired. He fell asleep and slept nearly the whole way... once he touched down be became very thankful for his nap. He found out that it was only the middle of the afternoon. Thanks to that nap he was no longer tired and simply felt extremely excited. He'd generally been in Manchester his whole life with only a few trips to London. Suddenly he was stepping on the soil from another country entirely - Another continent even! He picked up his suitcases from the luggage return and left the airport, excited with whatever this country held in store for him.

Once outside he was almost overwhelmed by the Californian heat. He was used to the wet weather with generally mild temperatures of England. Nevertheless... he liked it -it was different and, although frightening, he loved the all of these differences he was spotting from what he was used to.

Suddenly his common sense caught up with him. _ "Alright genius... You came to America with two bags of luggage and a little American money. What are you going to do now?" _He looked around... he really should have at least arranged a hotel in the time he had before arriving here. Slowly, without even realizing it, walked off the sidewalk and into the street. He was so caught up in wondering what to do now as well as seeing all the differences to his own little town he hadn't even noticed that he left the sidewalk.

He was shaken from his thoughts as he a cab whizzed by him, horn blaring. Davy jumped back, nearly tripping over the curb. After a few moments of calming himself he decided that it would probably be a wiser plan to catch a cab then wander around in the street. He summarized that it would probably be more efficient and he'd get further if he were to ride inside of the cab, rather then splattered on the outside.

Eagerly he flagged one down and hopped inside, smiling and almost bouncing in place. The driver looked at him through the mirror, "Where to, kid?"

Davy thought a moment. He was kicking himself for having not done any sort of research or planning. He had plenty of time to and now he was in a cab with no destination in mind. He decided that when he gets wherever he's going he should stop to think about what next, "Um... we... uh.. I don't know to be honest."

The driver sighed, he'd had people like this before, "Look, I can't drive you nowhere. So please tell me where you want to go or get out so a paying customer that _does _have somewhere to be can get there."

Davy frowned and after moment shrugged, the man made a point... "Okay then... a nearby restaurant. Anywhere will do."

The driver stared at Davy through the mirror a moment. This kid was totally crazy... most other cabs would take that offer and drive him around to the furthest restaurant in the city with the longest route possible. Luckily this cabby wasn't like that and the boy seemed so happy and excited that he didn't have the heart to kick him out - so instead followed Davy's vague request. There was a decent enough restaurant not to far from the airport meant for people just like this and that should suit this kid just fine.

Once in front of the restaurant Davy thanked the man and paid the required fee with a hefty tip. The cab pulled away and Davy turned to look around. He made it two steps onto the sidewalk when he was thrown off his feet by someone running into him. Davy grunted as he hit the ground, pavement was hard, but the excitement of a new country kept him from loosing his temper like he normally would have. He looked at his assaulter -he looked a little older then Davy was and had long hair pretty similar to Davy's. Davy thought it was amusing to have run into someone with long hair like his, the only difference being it was a different color. The boy seemed to be in a terrible hurry as he jumped up to his feet, slightly dazed at the sudden collision. Rather then hurrying off, like many other people would have, he helped Davy to his feet once he realized that the person he ran into was still on the ground, "Oh, I'm sorry." The stranger quickly picked up the dropped suitcases before Davy could so much as step towards them and handed them to Davy. Davy smiled - he liked this guy and he had no idea why, but it was like running into a long time friend but not remembering their name, "It's alright... it wasn't a long fall." He grinned and was pleased to see that the stranger caught the height joke. He had smiled a dimpled grin but it vanished as he looked down to his watch, suddenly remembering he was in a hurry. The hastiness reentered the tawny-brown eyes, "I'm so sorry, it's just I'm late for work. It's been a bad day." He seemed genuinely sorry he had crashed into Davy and just as sorry for have to leave in a hurry. Davy knew the boy didn't want to be rude but had to go, so, even though Davy wanted to talk more with this soft-spoken stranger he nodded, "It's ok. You should hurry." He stepped further on the sidewalk and out of the way.

The blonde nodded, "Maybe we'll bump into each other again." He smiled jokingly before running off again.

Davy turned away from the direction the boy went. That was...interesting. He honestly felt sad that the man had to leave and Davy hadn't even gotten his name. He shook his head; he was thinking foolishly. He didn't know that guy and all they had done was run into each other anyway. The only reason he felt like this was because off all these changes that were happening right now and his extremely good mood. He'd get over it, but he wondered and kind of hoped that every person in the city was this nice.

Finally he looked over to the restaurant the cab took him to. After only moments of inspection he wrinkled his nose in disgust. It looked horrible looking -grimy and judging by the 'deals' on the sign near the door it seemed expensive as well. True ,Davy had brought some money, but not very much. That was something he knew he'd regret soon but right now he'd have to actually find a place to eat.

Unfortunately no cabs seemed to be coming, and after a few moments of waiting he decided it would be best if he didn't take a cab anyway. So with suitcases in tow he started walking.

He stopped to look at many restaurants and bars as he went, but none met his standards. The few that did meet his standards were _far _to expensive. Sure, he could afford them but without a plan in mind wasn't comfortable with wasting to much money on food right now. He felt like he was walking for hours and he still hadn't found anywhere he wanted to eat and by now he was getting exhausted. Finally he realized he could not be this picky. He had to simply find some restaurant that looked either like it was decent enough quality, despite the food it had or a cheap place that looked nasty. There simply was no restaurants in the area that had food he as used to in a price range that he could afford right now. He knew he could keep looking and probably find somewhere eventually but he had enough touring. His legs were throbbing, feet felt like they were bleeding, and arms seemed to heavy to lift and the heat was finally getting to him. To make it worse he had worn a suit, something far to hot and heavy to be wearing right now. It was getting late and he didn't even have a hotel yet.

He turned a corner onto one block. He decided whatever was on this block he had to choose from. About halfway through the block there was, indeed, a restaurant. It seemed a little different then most, however. The prices on the sign seemed cheap and, although the food was much more American then Davy was used to, it didn't seem grimy like some of the others he'd seen. The building was small but seemed friendly, and thankfully when Davy asked they didn't seem like they'd mind if Davy brought his suitcases in with him.

But... there was something else. Something pulled him to eat here. He couldn't place a finger on it but that same pull to come to America was pulling him to go into this restaurant, even though they seemed busy and he'd probably have to wait t get his order.

Davy entered, it seemed to be a seat yourself kind of place. Unfortunately all of the tables were taken. He went a little further in to see if there were any tables in the back. He did find one table, out of the way, that was in a shadow making it very hard to see if it was taken or not.

By the time his eyes fully adjusted and he could see that the table had already been occupied with two people he was almost at it. He was about to turn away when the brown haired one looked up at him, grinning widely. He seemed about as old as Davy, give or take, and extremely friendly, "Oh hey. You need a place to sit? You look tired." Without even waiting for an answer the boy got up and pulled an extra chair around to the table, gesturing to it, "Please, take a seat and take a load off for a few." With that he helped put Davy's suitcases under the table. Davy was quite shocked by this and took a moment to chance a glance at the black haired man. He seemed older then Davy or the other boy but still around the same age and his mood seemed a lot darker. His eyes didn't reveal anything but he didn't seem like he minded Davy joining the table.

So, deciding that he was welcome and not feeling like waiting for another table to free up, he sat down in the chair. The one who had originally greeted him called for a waitress that was passing by. He didn't call her rudely or anything, but Davy noted that he seemed a bit loud and hyper. The waitress came over and took Davy's order and after it was placed he glanced at the one in the hat and the one who offered him to the table. Davy couldn't help but smile a little... that pulling he had to come to America seemed alleviated somehow and just like with the other man from earlier he felt pretty comfortable around them, despite being complete strangers. Davy decided to chalk it down to his excitement still, and relief to get a rest after walking all day, but he was still happy.

He extended his hand to each of them with a smile, "Um.. Hi, My name is David Jones..."


	5. Peter's Chapter

**~Do I have to do this all over again? - How many times do I have to make this climb?~  
**

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**Warnings for this chapter:** Nothing.

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Peter Halsten Thorkelson (Or Peter Tork as he'd insist on ever since he knew his name) was born into a pretty average family. His mother was kind and supportive, and in contrast his dad was very strict -in Peter's house, what his dad said was the law... no matter what.

Ever since Peter was a baby both of his parents could tell that he was a very smart child. Because of this his parents pushed him further in schooling. Within his first few years of school the teachers saw that Peter was bored yet excelling in his classes l so they suggested him being bumped up - so he was. Peter's boredom problem was solved but a bigger one took its place. He was the young genius.

For the rest of elementary school and most of Junior High he was picked on. People thought of him as a teacher's pet because he always knew the answers yet was so much younger then everyone else. People made fun of him all of the time. Usually they didn't get too violent but it was still annoying and thanks to this he never had very many friends. He started up music to make up for it and it quickly and easily filled that void. He had always liked music - even as a little toddler. Quickly Peter learned guitar, bass, piano, and a few other instruments ; out of them all he preferred the piano and bass. Since he always was involved in schoolwork, school and music at home he didn't have the need for friends.

As he got further along in Jr. high the bullies were getting rougher. Rather than pushing back, however, he just turned the other cheek. He ignored the bullies and just continued on as if nobody was there, which ticked off his offenders even more. Peter didn't care though... he believed in the message of peace - but he had enough when one ripped up a song he was working on.

Tired of being the genius kid he started acting dumb. Peter didn't let it effect his grades but he let it stay noticeable enough so that people would leave him alone a little more. When someone told a joke around him he acted like he didn't get it. (At first he thought it would be hard to not laugh at a joke... but it wasn't hard at all. That was probably due to all their jokes juvenile and stupid, though.) It wasn't long until people started to accept him more now that he didn't act so much smarter then them. More importantly then them liking him, however... was that he enjoyed just being childish - there was a lot less feelings of responsibility.

All through high school he acted jumpy and excitable. He found out quickly that it was hardly an act at all - he was naturally and excitable person and acting dumb just gave him an excuse. He also had started getting more involved in his music than every before. His notes often had lyrics doodled on them or rhymes written in the middle of the paragraphs - quite often taking over a page where he should have had notes instead.

His dad noticed the personality and attention change and disapproved of it entirely. After a few too many lectures Peter finally toned down his jumpiness and 'dumbness'. He kept his lyric writing to a separate notebook and practiced his instruments when his dad didn't have to hear them; but his dad still wasn't happy.

Once he got into college the doodling on notes resumed. Finally tired of it, Peter's dad officially banned him from music - no more writing songs or playing any instruments, even his listening to it was monitored. Naturally this didn't stop Peter at all... he continued to write without his dad knowing and he'd play when home alone. He was caught, more then once, yet it never deterred him. His dad kept insisting he go into some big money making career but Peter didn't want that. He wanted to work with music - he wanted to like his job. His dad didn't like that idea, however, believing that there wasn't a single career in music that would be well paying enough.

One day Peter was caught writing a song and it changed his entire life. The semester of college was over and he had some down time but yet his father still gave him another lecture about not wasting his life on something so fruitless. Finally Peter had enough.

* * *

Peter stood up. His father had been lecturing him for long enough; it was time to get going. The sudden action startled his father, "Where do you think you're going, boy? I'm not finished." Peter ignored him as he walked down the hallway to his room. His father followed him, "What do you think you're doing, Peter H. Thorkelson? This is my house, so my rules. Now sit back down." Peter continued to ignore his dad for a moment as he took out a suitcase from his closet. He didn't even look at his dad as he finally answered, "I'm leaving." His father was taken aback for a moment before continuing to try to demand answers, but Peter just ignored him. Eventually his dad gave up, not completely convinced Peter was planning on doing what he said. Within the hour Peter had his bags packed. The last thing he did was put his bass into its case.

Peter bid his parents goodbye. He had the idea of leaving home swirling in his mind since he started college but he never acted on it. Finally his dad just pushed him to far and though he loved both of his parents with all of his heart... he had to just leave. In minutes he loaded his things into the back of his old jeep and left. His father was furious but did nothing to stop him, while his mother just watched. She knew why Peter was leaving - her husband was a bit overly strict sometimes and had once learned the hard way to follow your dreams before it was to late. Both parents watched their son drive away in the direction of California.

It was a long drive with a couple of hotel visits but he made it without much trouble. He didn't know why he wanted to go to California - sure it was a good place for music but it wasn't enough to warrant the drive he had taken. He knew even less why he kept going all the way he did -he didn't like cities yet for some reason that's where he wanted to go. He finally made it where he wanted to settle down and started apartment hunting. It wasn't too hard to find one, though it was very expensive. Still... it was a pretty good apartment so he rented it and within the night had moved in.

The next day Peter knew he needed to find a job, he wouldn't be able to keep this apartment on his savings alone. He searched the city and by the evening he was able to find a decent enough job at a restaurant. It wasn't a great job and had mediocre pay but it was still a paycheck and that's all he wanted for now. He continued to look for a better one for a while but quickly realized that a long-haired eighteen year old boy was not highly sought after.

* * *

For two years he scratched out a simple living. It wasn't easy and more then once he was late on rent. When he was 20 things got a lot harder - the landlord raised the already to-high rent and his bosses cut his hours. Peter found himself dragging on rent worse than he ever had before - one month he was about a week and a half late. The next month he knew he was also going to be late but he would soon find out that it wouldn't matter.

The day of collection Peter had woken up with a strange feeling. He decided it was simply because he knew he didn't have enough rent so he made himself a hot cup of tea to wake up and brushed it off. He didn't have work today so just had to sit around waiting for his landlord to come by. When the man came by he didn't take the news very well... But _seemed _to accept it for the day - just like he did the month before.

Moments after his landlord leaving he got a phone call. His work wanted him to come in immediately because they had something important to discuss. They wanted to see him within the half hour. Without thinking Peter agreed and jumped in his jeep. He cursed himself lightly for agreeing to be there so soon - it took 20 minutes on a _good_ day to get there.

It took him about 25 minutes from the phone call to getting to the area around the restaurant but unfortunately there was not a single parking space anywhere nearby. He had to park a few blocks down just to get a spot so by the time he stepped out of his car he was already thirty minutes in. They wanted him to be standing in front of them by now. Frantically he half ran down the sidewalk to his restaurant. It wasn't as crowded as it could have been but people still slowed him down - seeming to always insist on stepping right in front of him or walking slowly in groups that took up almost the whole sidewalk.

About a block away he was nearly at a jog. His mind was so much on why they wanted him there he didn't even see the person step out of a cab on onto the sidewalk. Peter ran straight into them and fell back to the ground hard. One thing the collision accomplished was knocking him back to reality so that was good at least. He shook his head to clear it and looked at the person who he had ran into. The other kid was shorter and had long brown hair and looked pretty young yet still around Peter's age, probably. He seemed overwhelmed by the city and was carrying suitcases.

Peter glanced at his watch. He was really late... but he couldn't just run off. It was his fault they were on the pavement anyway. Immediately he jumped up and helped the stranger to his feet, "Oh, I'm sorry." Before the kid could react Peter picked up the suitcases and handed them over. He was relieved to see the other smile, rather then get angry, as he spoke up in a very thick English accent, "It's alright... it wasn't a long fall." Immediately Peter caught the joke. The other boy was poking fun at himself. Peter liked that - to many people in this city had a tendency to be to uptight. Peter smiled, deciding he kid of liked this person. Suddenly, though, he remembered why he was in a hurry to start with. The smile vanished as he looked down at his watch. He was nearly ten minutes late already. He looked back up to the Englishman, "I'm so sorry, it's just I'm late for work. It's been a bad day." He was sorry for crashing into the boy and even more sorry for having to leave so quickly. He was relieved to see the kid step to the side, still not seeming angry, "It's ok. You should hurry."

Peter nodded with relief and happy for the little reprieve from the stress of rushing so much, "Maybe we'll bump into each other again." He grinned at the small joke yet truly he _did _wish to see this kid again. He doubted he would... but there was a familiarity about him Peter really liked. The only time of the whole day he felt a little more at ease.

Peter quickly hurried off and finally made it to the restaurant and into the office, completely out of breath. He stood at the doorway, waiting for them to bid him in. The boss motioned to him and Peter sat, immediately trying to explain his lateness in one breath, "Sorry sir... bad traffic and no parking. It takes 20 minutes on a good day. Then I quite literally ran into someone and couldn't just run off. But I made it here as qui-" The boss raised his hand to silence Peter who immediately complied.

"Listen, Mr. Thorkelson." This time Peter raised his hand a bit and corrected him before he could go on, "Tork - Just... Tork." The boss sighed, "Mr. Tork... you're a good worker but as you know it's been slow." Peter fought to hold back a laugh. It was true that it had been slow recently... but it was still a funny thing to say to someone who couldn't get a parking spot within three blocks, "We've been having to cut hours and cut jobs. Now... we've kept you because you're an excellent worker and we know you need the money -but I'm afraid we just can't keep you any longer. You've been here a long time but we have others who have been here longer and need the job more. I'm sure you'll be able to get another job and we'll be happy to recommend you. Unfortunately we're relieving you of your duties here." Peter stared a second. He wasn't surprised or shocked, just slightly irritated. He didn't put of a fight though, this job had helped him a lot and Peter knew they weren't lying when they said other people needed it more than him. There were people who were attempting to raise families so Peter couldn't be angry.

Peter headed back to his jeep and slowly made his way back to his apartment. By the time he got home his mood sank even lower - there was a notice pinned to his door saying he had to be out of there by the end of the day. With that Peter was honestly surprised it hadn't happened sooner. Still... surprised or not that didn't change the fact that he was back at square one like he was two years ago with no job or home.

Peter didn't waste time like he could have, he simply packed up and got in his jeep again. He might as well get a head start on the future than try to cling to the past, after all. He was going to get something to eat, rent a hotel, then think of what to do next.

* * *

Peter knew that finding a cheap restaurant with decent quality was a tough order in this town but living here for a couple of years made him learn all of the better places. He decided to go to his favorite since it would be the safest price range for him with a decent enough menu to make up for the crappy day.

When he got there he managed to snag the last parking spot but inside he was dismayed to see that the place was packed. Peter knew that occasionally tables in the very back would be free so decided to check, hoping he would manage to get a table. He really didn't want to stand around or find anywhere to eat and, to his disappointment, there wasn't a single table free in the back. He sighed, scanning the tables as he walked hoping to run across some hidden empty table. Near the corner he started to pass a table that had people in it - just like every other table in the room - when a person caught his eye. He found the kid that he had ran into earlier. He smiled, wanting to say hi but decided against it until the kid waved him over, "Oi! It's you." The kid grinned and turned to the others at the table, "I ran into 'im before I got here." The black haired one with the green hat lightly sighed but motioned for a chair anyway, "Pull it over." Peter noticed that this guy had a thick Texan accent - a stark contrast to the short one's English one. Peter smiled though and nodded, grabbing a char and pulling it over to the small table. He had absolutely no idea why but he felt really at ease and relaxed right now - more than he had been in ages. He was so glad to meet these three strangers... he felt something really good might come out of it.


	6. The Meeting

**~I'm gonna pack up all the pain, I'm gonna keep it in my heart - I'm gonna catch me the fastest train, I'm gonna make me a brand new start~  
**

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**Warnings for this chapter:** Nothing. In particular. Just touches on dark things of past chapter

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"Isn't that really hot to wear in this weather?"

Micky had waited patiently for an answer. He knew it wasn't exactly an important inquiry but he was genuinely curious. More importantly than that, however, was that he knew that he needed a conversation otherwise he would be kicked out of the table or the other kid would leave. Micky couldn't explain why but he didn't want that.

Mike thought about the kid's question for a moment; he didn't want to explain why the hat was comfortable - it could become to personal but a vague answer should be enough, "No, it's a Texas hat so feels right at home in this weather. I've worn it in much hotter temperatures." He paused, then decided to go ahead and answer the answer that he knew was coming, "My mother made it."

Micky nodded, figuring that made sense. If the hat was comfortable in Texas it would feel fine here. Though it looked thick so he still didn't understand how a wool hat could possibly be comfortable - at all - in hot weather. Logically it was probably do to a knitting style or something but it still was weird. Now satisfied with the ice broken he offered his left hand out over the table. Micky was right handed but he didn't want to make the other kid have to use his bandaged hand. He put on a fake posh accent and sat up straight and proper, "Well... My name is George Michael Dolenz." He dropped the accent, and grinned with a small laugh, " But... please - just call me Micky. Nice to meet you Mr... Uh... Texan." He gave a goofy laugh laugh before his voice became a tiny bit more serious, "And thanks for not kicking me out of the table. It's been a long day... I needed to rest."

Again the Texan smiled - it was hardly even a shadow of a smile and Micky could guess that the man didn't smile very often but it was a smile nonetheless and that was enough for him - especially as the stranger accepted the handshake. It was a little awkward since both were right handed but they managed, "Robert Michael Nesmith... Just call me Mike. I haven't been called Robert since first grade."

After a moment Mike frowned, noticing the bruise forming on Micky's face. He'd often seen bruises and scrapes and it rarely bothered him but for some reason it bothered him now. He eyed it a moment, it looked bad - not really damaging but painful none-the-less. He gave Micky a questioning look.

Micky, before Mike even motioned to the bruise, could feel his eyes. Over the years he had become really vigilant to when people were looking at him in general and he always knew when someone was looking at some injury. It grated on his self-esteem and of course Hank's put downs didn't help it either. More than anything he just didn't didn't like making up lies to explain visible bruises and scrapes so would usually just leave before someone asked him about it.

This time, however, Micky didn't feel the urge to lie or walk away. In fact he felt a weird sort of trust towards Mike so rather than walking away his eyes lost some of that giddy hyperness as he looked down at the table a little, "Hank... He's not really an actually my step dad but he kind of is... he got a bit angry with me earlier."

Mike nodded, he saw the drastic change in Micky's eyes. But he realized why as Micky vaguely explained. "So... he did that to you then... did he? Looks bad... "

Micky shrugged after a moment, "I've had worse... its just a little sore." He glanced over to Mike's hand wanting the topic to get off of him now. He knew this could be a very bad idea but if Mike could ask him about his injury... why couldn't he ask Mike about his, "So... then what about you're hand?"

Mike could tell Micky purposefully changed the topic but let it go. Still... Mike's eyes grew dark and even less revealing, "Mirror." It was a very vague answer but it should be explanation enough. To be honest it wasn't that he didn't trust Micky - he just didn't want to explain it right now.

Micky waited for further explanation then that one word but none came. He nodded slowly after a moment - he knew better than to push it but it certainly left an awkward silence in its wake. It didn't take much of glancing around the restaurant until he became bored. Soon he started to drum his fingers on the table and humming a nameless tune. He didn't even notice the look Mike was giving him until he cleared his throat. Micky jumped, crashing back to reality. He'd often get in trouble at work for drifting away like that so he wasn't surprised that he had started doing that now. "Oh. Um. Sorry about that." He grinned with a small shrug, his eyes once again glimmering with fun and mischief, "Drummer."

Mike seemed to perk up a little at the mention of something involving music. He eyes lost a little of their darkness, "Oh really?" Micky nodded. "Yea... well actually I started on guitar and moved on to drums - I like them better. I really like singing, to, and recently tried writing a few songs."

Mike nodded, one of his small grins back on his face, "That's pretty groovy. I play guitar and write. I can sing but since I don't have an audience I don't do it very much."

Micky was about to reply when a clean cut kid in a suit wandered up to the table. He had a couple suitcases and looked beat, though he was hiding it well. Micky eyed the kid then glanced to Mike with an expecting look. Mike rolled his eyes and nodded - somehow without even saying a work he knew Micky wanted to invite the kid over. Mike could tell the kid was tired so although he already had plenty company he couldn't turn the boy away.

Micky turned back, grinning widely, "Oh hey. You need a place to sit? You look tired." Micky didn't give him a chance to decline as he got up and pulled a vacant chair around to the table, "Please, take a seat and take a load off for a few." With that he grabbed the suitcases and carefully stuck them under the table so they wouldn't be underfoot. Mike found this display slightly amusing - Micky was a very interesting person. He seemed to have a darker life then he was letting on but it didn't seem to bring him down much. He happily invited himself to another person's table then invited a total stranger to the same table. Still... Mike liked this new addition - Something seemed nice about him. It was a similar feeling to how he felt when Micky sat at the table.

Micky looked around and frowned, there was no waitresses coming to the table. He called to a waitress who was passing by (though perhaps a little louder than he had intended). She seemed a little startled but not angry and came over to wait on the table. The newest addition to the table got a simple salad and coke.

Micky grinned a bit as he noticed that the new addition had an English accent - the table now had quite an interesting trio added to it ; A dark and quiet Texan, a clean-cut and kind looking Englishman, and a hyper but rather average Micky.

Finally the Britishman spoke up, "Um.. Hi, My name is David Jones..." He extended his hand first to the one on the left of him. The brown haired kid took it, "Hello, I'm Micky." Davy smiled then over to the other. He started to extend his right hand but paused a moment as he saw Mike's bandages. Mike took Davy's hand and shook it anyway - True his hand was sore but by now more of a dull throb then anything else; a handshake would hardly hurt it, "Mike Nesmith."

Moments later Davy's coke arrived. He thanked the waitress and then looked back at the other two. "Thanks for inviting me over… I've been walking all day and couldn't find any reasonably priced places - those bags got heavy." He kicked one of his suitcases, then drew his foot back in pain, grimacing a bit, "Ow… Stupid bag." He smiled after that, showing he was for the most part joking (though he was a bit resentful towards how heavy those bags had gotten.) As he glanced over to get a better look of the restaurant he spotted someone passing the table and his eyes widened a bit, "Oi! It's you!" He waved that person over - it was the same kid he ran into earlier that day. What luck that they'd be looking for somewhere to eat at the same time and place. Davy glanced over to Mike, since it seemed to have been originally his table. In response the Texan just sighed and motioned to another empty chair nearby, "Pull it over."

Peter nodded with a small smile - it was interesting that he would again meet the very kid he ran into. Rather than wondering on how or why, right now he was just glad to have a place to sit and relax after a rather hectic day. He glanced over to the one he ran into… what he guessed was probably the youngest of them all, "I'm sorry… I didn't introduce myself earlier. " He looked back to the others as to address them all, "I'm Peter Tork."

Davy opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Micky who was the quickest to respond - Very enthusiastically at that, "Oh, hey Pete! Name's Micky Dolenz!" He half-lunged over the table to shake Peter's hand. He accomplished that task… but not before knocking over Mike's empty coke bottle, a napkin holder and a few other things on the table. He ignored the sigh coming from where Mike was sitting as he enthusiastically shook Peter's hand (who to Micky's glee seemed to be amused by the enthusiasm). Micky grinned even wider as, seconds later, he heard some quiet chuckles coming from where Mike was sitting. He felt accomplished that he got some sort of a laugh out of the one who never seemed to laugh. But Micky was still surprised why Mike hadn't kicked them all (or at least Micky himself) out of the table. There was obviously more to Mike than his dark eyes and Micky was grateful.

Once Micky sat back down Mike gave one of small grins over to Peter. He liked this guy just like he liked Micky and Davy. Mike would never had dreamed of letting anyone over to his table at a restaurant - let alone one who was knocking over things or someone with luggage. But for some reason these people didn't feel like three other strangers. Just like Peter, he decided to ignore the weird feeling and just nodded, offering his hand, "Mike Nesmith."

Peter took the extended hand, he felt a slight pull of curiosity at the bandages… but knew that now was not the time to ask.

As the waitress passed by Peter realized he was rather hungry - he hadn't eaten anything all day and it had been a busy day at that. He waved her over much more calmly than Micky had earlier, "Hi.. sorry to bother you. But could I get a salad and a coke?" The waitress nodded and wrote down his order, then glanced to Davy, "We're sorry your order is taking so long. We're very backed up in the kitchens and I think your order was buried under some others." Davy nodded. "Oh it's no problem. Just bring mine out with his."

After the waitress left Davy looked back over to Peter, "Oh, and my name is David Jones…. Just call me Davy." Peter shook Davy's hand and glanced over at the other two, deciding to explain why he and Davy were familiar with each other, "We…. bumped into each other earlier today. Quite literally… actually." Peter felt a bubble of laugher in his throat as Micky cocked his head to the side - he looked very much like a confused puppy. With a lot of control, though, Peter held down the laugh as Micky asked his question, "Oh really? How did you manage that?" With that Peter grinned a bit sheepishly and shrugged, "Well… I was in a hurry and kinda didn't see him when he stepped onto the sidewalk."

Davy feigned annoyance, "It's cause I'm short? Isn't it?" They all laughed a bit at that. After a moment they all quieted down, relishing the calm moment in their hectic days.

They didn't know it but they were all thinking this same thing; this was just right. They had all gone through a lot and somehow they all met at the same time and same place despite their different backgrounds. To top it all off they all were laughing more and were overall more comfortable than they had each been in a while - let alone with strangers. There was more to this than a coincidence.

After a few moments of silent contemplation Davy and Peter's salads came, along with Peter's coke. It broke the silence but none of them minded. The waitress looked at Davy, "Sorry it took so long, sir. I made sure that we found your order and put it at the front of the line, along with his order." Davy thanked her as she walked away then glanced at his salad which looked amazing to his empty stomach.

As Peter's salad got to him he realized that he was a bit more then just a little hungry. He was downright starving since he hadn't eaten anything all day and most of yesterday. He wasted no time in digging in and to Mike, Micky and anyone else that would happen to look over, he just looked like any hungry person eating a salad; Not messily… but not waiting time on "procedure", either.

A disgusted look grew on Davy's face as he stared for a moment. He glanced around to see if anyone was looking - it didn't look like it which was just fine with him. He looked back at Peter, "That's disgusting - I mean absolutely vial. Where did you learn how to eat?"

Peter froze in mid stab and look up at Davy. He had visibly deflated a bit at Davy's words. Mike and Micky had questioning and slightly upset looks as they glanced over to Davy. By now Davy turned his attention back to the salad. Peter tried explaining himself but Davy cut him off with a raise of the hand, eyes still cast down to the salad. He grabbed his knife and his salad fork and carefully started cutting up the salad into little squares. After a few moments he seemed satisfied with the small bite-sized pieces and put his knife down carefully on his napkin to pick up the small cup of blue cheese dressing and neatly pour it around the salad. With that, still not looking up to, he grabbed his spoon and carefully started tossing the salad until each piece was perfectly coated in a layer of dressing.

All this time he was well away of the three still staring at him… and the fact the Peter still hadn't taken another bite. He could feel the tension in the air between them - that was all very well.

Finally satisfied with the perfectly prepared salad he carefully put the utensils down on the napkin next to his plate. Then, with the straight face he had since he started, he grabbed a large fistful of the greens and smashed it into his face. Almost none made it into his mouth which was fine with him - he had decided upon getting the salad that none of it was really going to be eaten anyway. He knew he put off the air of a posh Britian and he wanted to make sure that they knew he was far from it. With that he grabbed another fistful and shoved it into his face again, somehow managing to get the salad into his hair and ears as well.

The other three at the table could not help but laugh very loudly the very second Davy shoved the first fistful of food in his face.

Davy flicked some salad off his face and it hit Peter, who responded immediately by tossing some his own salad back. Micky, of course, _had_ to participate if there was going to be a food fight so he reached over and grabbed some fallen salad from the table and tossed it at both of them.

But one lone piece of tomato accidentally landed right on Mike's forehead. It slid slowly down his face until it fell and landed on the table in front of him - a streak of salad dressing showing the path. Micky froze; He could tell Mike was the most serious of them all and may very well get up and leave at that. Without even a hint of a smile Mike grabbed a napkin and wiped the dressing from his forehead. Micky gave him a sorry look, "Um… Oops..." This time it was Mike's turn to have all eyes on him. Mike simply sighed and calmly reached over to a small cup that had extra ranch dressing for Peter. Mike looked at the dressing for a moment, then without warning flung it all right at Micky. With that he cracked a smile as he was hit with more vegetables from the other three.

Now the tension was gone for good.

After a few more moments of the food fight the waitress came over, dodging a stray piece of cucumber, "I'm sorry gentlemen. But if you're going to have a food fight… try not getting it on out other customers. As for now, I ask you to please… just eat the food. " With that she gave them some more napkins and walked away.

Finally the four sobered up and stopped throwing food, still suppressing giggles. Peter was the first to speak as he looked down into his empty salad bowl, "Well… that was - um - delicious." He paused a moment, "I think." Davy nodded in response, also with an empty bowl, "Yep. It was amazing."

Micky chuckled, shaking some lettuce from his hair, "Well... that was fun." He grabbed a piece of lettuce that was stuck to the back of his hand and looked at it a moment before shrugging and plopping it into his mouth, "Hm. You know... blue cheese and ranch dressing together isn't all that bad." Mike rolled his eyes as he took off his hat, flicking food off of it as the other two simply giggled at Micky's actions.

After the group was (mostly) cleaned up the mood finally settled down. Mike glanced over to Micky, finally deciding on something, "I punched it… it cut my hand up." Davy looked over to him, a single eyebrow raised in question, "What?"

Mike shrugged. "Micky asked me earlier what I did to my hand. I punched a mirror." Peter stared at him, his soft hazel eyes showing concern, "Why'd you do that? Where was it?" Mike bit his lip - he was already letting them know far more than he would have ever let anyone know but how much did he actually want to explain? Finally he decided that a little more details couldn't hurt, he was the one to bring it back up after all, "At home… I had a bad day."

Micky nodded, a calm concern filling his eyes like when Coco was sad or hurt. His voice was softer and kinder then anyone would have expected he was capable of, "Did you get all the glass out? And make sure all the glass was picked up so you don't like… step on it?"

Mike humphed, sitting back and crossing his arms. He knew he should have expected this but he still didn't like all this concern over him. He certainly wasn't used to it. _He _was the one who was supposed to be concerned about _other_ people so it was very weird to have others so worried over him, "Well… don't gotta worry about the glass on the floor since there is no more floor. But yes, I got it all out of my hand."

Davy, again, raised his eyebrow, "No floor?" Mike nodded, but decided not to divulge further into the story, "Let's just say I'm rather lacking a home at the moment. Just got a hotel room."

There was a few moments of silence as the listeners realized Mike wasn't going to share anything else. Finally, deciding to break the awkward silence, Micky grinned enthusiastically. He clapped Mike on the back, "Oh really? You're out of a home? Me to! Got kicked out today!" He gave a small laugh almost as if it was some sort of achievement. He was efficiently hiding the full story from them and they didn't even notice. That would save him a lot of trouble trying to explain - not that he thought they would want to be bothered by his troubles anyway, "We should make some sort of homeless people club!"

Peter laughed, "Well… if you're starting a club can I join?" Micky's smile vanished and he gave Peter a very suspicious look, his voice going serious and suspicious,"Well…. That depends. Do you meet the... requirements?" Peter shrugged seemingly unfazed by Micky's action, "Well…. I got evicted from my apartment toad... Oh! And I got fired! Does that count?" He smiled and almost bounced a little in excitement. Micky's large grin returned and he patted Peter on the shoulder, "Welcome to the club!" Davy chimed in, happy to share his own misfortunes with the group, "I'm from England. I didn't even set up a hotel or apartment!"

Before Micky could respond Mike raised his good hand, "Whoa, Whoa… wait a minute. Are ya'll telling me that we _all _just happen to have no homes?" Micky nodded, sitting back and leaning back on two legs of the chair, "Looks like it. To top it off I got fired today… Davy just got here so I doubt he has a job. If you came from Texas just recently I imagine you don't have a job either… right?" Mike nodded and Micky grinned, "So we have a homeless _and_ jobless club, then."

Mike spoke up again after a moment of serious thought - he couldn't believe he was about to say this, "Well... We're all in pretty bad predicaments it would seem. So… I have a hotel room. You guys can stay in it ..." He trailed off in mid-word, then moments later slammed his good hand down on the table, making some of the silverware clatter and the other table occupants jump, "I got it!" He ignored Micky's overly dramatic 'heart-attack' as he took a slip of paper from his pocket to glance at.

Peter looked over to it, curiously yet still very politely, "What's that, Michael?" Mike skimmed over the writing a moment and grinned, "Earlier today I ran into this woman who said she knew of a place opening up which had good rent and comfortably house about one to four people and from what she told me of rent it may be relatively easy to handle with four people."

Micky grabbed the slip of paper to look it over. He was born and raised in this town so knew the area better and could tell them if it was in a bad part of town. His eyes widened as he saw where the place supposedly was, "That's next to the beach. About an hour or so drive away at least! That place is awesome but usually expensive."

Davy thought for a moment, "You know, if we can afford this place I think we should rent it and stay there until we can get enough money to get our own places. I mean, I know I for one don't have enough money yet for an apartment of my own."

Mike nodded, trying not to think to hard on what he just offered and what may come out of it, "Yea… that's a good idea." He stood up and stretched, "Well…. The hotel's not a far walk away. Let's get going and in the morning call this…" He paused and glanced back to the paper that Micky was still holding, "… Mr. Babbit."

Peter grinned and stood, some lettuce falling to the floor, "What… walk? Pshaw... I have a car we can take." Davy's eyes significantly brightened at the thought of not having to walk. He jumped up and grabbed the suitcases from under the table, extremely happy at the idea of having somewhere comfortable to sit down, "Let's go."

With that Peter and Davy paid their bills and followed Peter to his jeep. Mike helped Davy fit his suitcases into the back with the rest of Peter's things. Mike saw a guitar case and eyed it hopefully. He was starting to form an idea in the back of his mind but first wanted to ask Peter some things before jumping to conclusions.

Finally Mike took shotgun so he could direct Peter back to the hotel and Micky and Davy situated themselves in the back.

They all had a very good feeling about this.


	7. The Name

**~Hey, Hey, We're the Monkees~  
**

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**Warnings for this chapter:** Nothing.

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Just as planned the four of them made it to his hotel room without trouble and decided on who would sleep where. Mike took the bed since he was the one paying for the room - Micky and Peter decided that Davy could have the little slide-away bed near the floor since he had just come across sea and probably could use a real bed. That left Micky and Peter to the lounge chairs, which were extremely comfortable so it wasn't much of a problem. Nearly as soon as they got to their selected sleeping spots they were asleep, each of them finally getting some well needed rest.

Come morning Micky was the first awake. He stretched in the overly stuffed chair he slept in and sat up a little, still leaning back. He took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim light and looked at his watch. It was 6am. He let out a quiet moan in mild annoyance. In all honesty, this was sleeping in compared to his normal schedule… but it was still really early. He still felt tired and he really wished he could make himself fall back to sleep but old habits were hard to break. Even if he slept in late just yesterday he would have a lot to answer to. He knew that finally he wouldn't have to worry about such dangers but his body still wouldn't comply - so Micky made a promise to himself that from now on he would let himself sleep as late into the day as he wanted to.

Today was not the day he could start that promise though so he sat up fully and stretched his back out, thinking about the past 24 hours. He got fired, kicked out of his house and kicked out of his band but hours later he met a group of people in similar situations. It was a great turn of luck for him so maybe things would work out after all. He stood quietly and made his way to the large mirror on the wall to inspect the damage Hank had done on his face the day before. He sighed a bit at the sight of it - the bruise covered part of his cheek and jaw. He gingerly prodded it with a finger and hissed lightly in pain. Yea… it was going to be sore for a while; the good news however was that it wasn't going to last long - a few days at most before it was hardly even a shadow. More good news was that his stomach didn't hurt anymore, either. Then it really hit Micky - he wouldn't have to worry about bruises or getting beat or any of the other dangers he had with Hank anymore. That little fact easily made the pain on his face fade considerably.

With that nice bit of knowledge he went back to his chair, sitting down and relaxing back into the soft, fake leather. He could at least relax for a while which was again something he wasn't used to. He was a bit startled at the voice coming from nearby him, "What happened?" Micky's eyes snapped open and he looked over to the owner of the voice - it was Peter. Micky sighed, knowing what Peter was asking about. He didn't feel like explaining it right now so hoped to avoid it, "What do you mean?" Peter motioned towards his own cheek and Micky nodded, "Ah… right. …" He pretended to gather his thoughts, though he was looking for an excuse to pass the subject.

Mike turned his head, having heard the short conversation having had woken up long ago. He had taught himself how to wake up early so he could take care of his mother ever since he was young so it was probably a habit that would stick with him for a long while. He got out of bed, careful not to step on Davy, and pulled one of the wooden chairs over to the duo, "Hey guys, you're up early." He glanced at Micky, knowing that he probably didn't want to talk about what had given him the bruise so Mike would steer the conversation away from the topic… for now at least.

Davy mumbled from his mini-bed on the floor and the other three looked at him, he was still asleep. Soon, though, the mumbles started forming words, "I don't wanna get up…five more minutes. Then I'll clean the stables." With that his eyes slowly opened and he yawned. He was used to having to get up early to take care of the horses which, like the others, was a habit that would stick with him for at least a little while.

Mike smiled, glancing at everyone awake at about the same time, "Well that was convenient." He stood. "I call shower first… by the time we all get freshened up we'll be able to call this landlord." Micky smiled at him, "Right dow nto business, huh?" Mike nodded with a shadow of a smile as he grabbed himself a fresh change of clothes and headed to the bathroom. He carefully peeled the bandage from his hand, only wincing when it caught on a cut, and stepped in the shower.

Micky yawned and worked on trying to wake up. He decided only one thing could really wake him up as he waited for the shower so turned a little and started to drum a random tune, relatively softly, on the side table with his hands. After a few minutes he was startled a bit as he heard an unplugged bass start playing along. He glanced over and saw it was Peter, smiling at him and picking up Micky's beat. Micky grinned and continued to drum. A few moments later a voice started humming and singing wordlessly along. Still a bit surprised, Micky looked over and now saw Davy leaning on the arm of Peter's chair, tapping his foot and snapping his fingers along with the beat as he sang. Refusing to be out sung Micky joined singing, his and Davy's voices merging harmoniously. Peter joined in humming backup.

Mike, who didn't hear what was going on in the other room, simply hurried with his shower knowing others needed to get in there. As he shut off the water to the shower he heard the slight sounds coming from beyond the door. Curious, he quickly got dressed and opened to door to see what was going on. He watched the scene in front of him for a few moments before he nodded to himself - the hunch he had gotten when he saw the guitar case in Peter's jeep was confirmed. He grabbed his acoustic guitar from the case next to the bed and headed to the three, joining in with guitar but not really singing along.

For a few more minutes the four of them played (and sang) the nameless, wordless tune before finally ending it with a perfect finish. They all looked at each other a few moments before Mike voiced his thought, "You know... I play guitar, Peter plays bass, and Micky plays drums. Those are the only serious instruments a band would need. To top it off it seems like we all can sing…"He trailed off, letting the others grasp his idea.

Micky stared at him a moment before a very large grin split across his face at the realization, "I'm in." He couldn't believe that after being kicked out of his house and his band he'd run into three other people who were equally homeless, jobless and musically talented. He wondered when his luck would run out but he really wasn't in the position to question it right now.

Peter nodded seconds later, he had left his home so he could pursue music. He didn't believe in coincidences so he wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to follow his dream that the fates seemed to drop on his lap like this, "Me to."

Davy shrugged with a large grin plastered on his face, "Of course! I've done a little guitar… but I'm the greatest tambourine and maraca player you'd ever meet."

Mike nodded, grinning, "Ok… well then it looks like we're a group." He jumped as Micky hopped to his feet and loudly cheered. He shushed the drummer quickly. "Cool it man. Do you want us to get kicked out of here?" Micky grinned mischievously and Mike just shook his head a little, "Okay… don't answer that." He sighed as he set down his guitar and crossed his arms, "Well, now we need a name."

Micky shrugged as he stepped out of the group, "I dunno man. But I need to take a shower." He laughed and went to the bathroom, "Maybe that could be it… 'The Showers'" With that he disappeared behind the door.

Mike rolled his eyes and turned to the others, "Well?"

Micky quickly jumped into the shower, wanting to hurry for the first time he could ever remember. The shower was always the only place he could really relax and prepare himself for the day… but now was not time to relax. He was extremely excited over this whole thing and didn't have the patience to waste time in the shower. In about five minutes he was out and finished putting on his clothes. He didn't like having to wear the same clothes from yesterday - the food fight especially made them a bit uncomfortable to wear - but had no second outfit… all of his clothes were still in what was once his room. (If Hank didn't throw it all out of course) Right now that idea didn't bother him as he quickly left the bathroom to see if he missed anything.

He opened the door to see that the only difference was Davy had moved from the arm of Peter's chair to where Micky had been sitting. So Micky took Davy's abandoned spot and crossed his arms, "Um... so no progress then huh?" Micky watched as the three shook their heads in dismay, some of the enthusiasm having drained from earlier, which meant it was time for Micky to do what he did best and rekindle it.

Micky grinned, glancing at each of them, "Um, how about… 'The Woolhats'? 'The Brits'?" Davy grinned and added an idea, "Or maybe 'The Foodfighters'?" Peter's eyes widened and he grinned enthusiastically, "I got it - I got it! How about... 'The People'!" The other three looked at him and he just shrugged in return, secretly jumping for joy that they didn't judge him for his (knowingly) stupid suggestion, "Seemed like a good name."

Mike sighed, getting frustrated. He would be damned that this odd miracle would be smashed because of a name, "Come on fellas. Quit monkeying around. We need a name." Micky's eyes brightened as an idea popped into his head, "That's it!" Davy looked at him confused, "What's it?"

Micky ignored him as he went away from them to the dresser near the mirror. He grabbed a scrap piece of paper and a pen from off the top of it and quickly started doodling. Within moments he was finished and showed them his work - he had drawn '_The Monkees' _written in the shape of a guitar. The other three grinned, liking the idea. Mike nodded at him, "That's perfect man… but you spelled monkey wrong." Micky shook his head, "No… that's how I meant to spell it. A lot of groups spell their names different and it looks better in the guitar like that, anyway."

Mike nodded, now that he thought about it Micky's reasoning made sense, "Ok… What does everyone think? I like it, so how about you two?" Peter and Davy nodded, both of them grinning widely. Mike smiled and took the doodle, "Then it's settled. Henceforth, the four of us shall be known as…'_The Monkees'_"


End file.
